Prose  Miscellanies 


FROM 


HEINRICH  HEINE, 


TRANSLATED    BY 

S.    L.    FLEISHMAN. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   &   CO. 

1876. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

J.  13.  LII'IMNCOTT   &   CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


,« •  .•.••« 


AsFs 
mA  /a3 


TO 

MY   BELOVED   AUNT, 
MRS.  REGINA   BIERMAN. 


39644  7 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

Introductory  Sketch— Biographical  and  Critical    .      9 
"The  Salon" — The  Exhibition  of  Paintings  in  Paris, 

1831 .51 

The  Memoirs  of  Herr  Von  Schnabelewopski      .        .     S^ 
On  the  History  of  Religion  and  Philosophy  in  Ger- 
many     106 

The  Romantic  School 156 

The  Suabian  School 206 

The  Gods  in  Exile 216 

Confessions 245 


PREFACE. 


In  making  a  selection  of  Heine's  prose  writings 
for  publication,  the  translator  has  been  bewildered 
by  an  embarrassment  of  riches.  To  give  only  these 
few  pages,  while  so  many  delightful  passages  are 
omitted,  is  like  culling  a  flower  here  and  there, 
while  a  whole  garden  of  fragrant  blossoms  is  left 
untouched.  A  more  witty,  poetic,  and  enjoy- 
able style  cannot  be  found  in  the  literature  of  any 
country;  and  it  is  a  matter  of  surprise  that  so  few 
of  Heine's  prose  writings  have  been  translated  into 
the  English  language.  So  far  as  I  know,  the  only 
prose  translations  hitherto  published  are  **  Pictures 
of  Travel,"  by  Mr.  Leland,  and  "Scintillations," 
by  Mr.  Stern, — both  excellent  versions  ;  the  latter 
notably  so.  The  plan  I  have  followed  differs  ma- 
terially from  that  of  either.  Mr.  Leland  has  trans- 
lated the  "  Pictures  of  Travel"  entire,  thereby 
including  much  matter  of  little  interest  to  the 
American  reader.  On  the  other  hand,  by  giving 
brief  excerpts,  as  Mr.  Stern  does  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  volume,  there  is  left  on  the  reader's  mind  an 

7 


S  PREFACE. 

impression  of  abruptness  and  forced  wit,  as  if  Heine 
were  constantly  attempting  to  be  epigrammatic; 
whereas,  part  of  the  greatest  charm  of  Heine's 
style  are  the  flashes  of  wit  and  humor,  touches 
of  pathos,  profound  philosophical  thoughts,  beau- 
tiful word-pictures,  stinging  sarcasms, — all  linked 
together  by  the  most  natural  and  ingenious  gra- 
dations. Of  all  writers,  Heine  most  abounds  in 
startling  surprises,  paradoxes,  and  anticlimaxes; 
yet  such  is  his  marvelous  skill  of  combination  that 
amid  all  his  extravagant  fancies  nothing  seems 
forced  or  unreal.  No  writer  better  bears  being 
quoted  in  brief,  witty  excerpts  ;  yet  none  loses 
more  by  such  treatment.  To  quote  Heine's  epi- 
grams apart  from  their  connections  is  like  tearing 
the  jewel  from  its  setting,  the  picture  from  its 
frame.  I  have  adopted  a  middle  course  between 
the  methods  of  Mr.  Leland  and  Mr.  Stern,  and 
shall  therefore  use  Heine's  own  forms  and  ar- 
rangement so  far  as  may  be  necessary  to  enable 
the  readtr  to  follow  his  train  of  thought.  About 
twenty-five  pages  of  my  selections  have  already 
appeared  in  the  "Scintillations;"  but  I  was  com- 
pelled to  retain  them  in  order  to  preserve  an  intel- 
ligible connection. 

Pittsburgh,  September,  1875. 


INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

BIOGRAPHICAL    AND    CRITICAL 


HEINRICH    HEINE* 

For  a  correct  understanding  of  the  character  and 
influence  of  Heine's  writings,  a  knowledge  of  his  life 
and  surroundings  is  requisite.  Heinrich  Heine  was 
born  in  the  city  of  Dusseldorf,  on  the  13th  of  De- 
cember, 1799.  Some  biographers  state  the  date  to  be 
January  i,  1800,  probably  misled  by  Heine's  witticism 
that  he  was  born  on  the  new  year's  eve  of  the  year 
1800,  and  was,  therefore,  "one  of  the  first  men  of  the 
century."  His  name  was  originally  Harry,  which  in 
later  years  he  changed  to  Heinrich. 

His  boyhood  days  were  spent  amid  the  tumults  and 
commotions  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  The  rise  and 
progress  of  the  French  Revolution,  the  bloody  excesses 
of  the  Reign  of  Terror,  the  brilliant  victories  of  the 

*  In  compiling  this  sketch  of  Heine  I  have  closely  followed  the  ac- 
count of  Strodtmann,  the  able  and  sympathetic  biographer  of  Heine. 
In  fact,  the  biographical  and  anecdotical  portion  of  this  sketch  may  be 
considered  as  merely  a  translation  and  condensation  of  Strodtmann's 
"  Heine's  Leben  und  Werken." — Translator. 

2  9 


lO  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

young  Napoleon,  the  establishment  of  the  Directory, 
the  Empire,' — all  these  strange  and  startling  events  had 
unsettled  the  minds  of  men  ;  none  knew  what  to  expect 
next,  and  all  were  filled  with  the  feverish  unrest  of  ex- 
pectation, either  of  hope  or  of  dread.  Then  came  wars 
and  invasions,  victories  and  defeats,  annexations  and 
abdications.  The  world  seemed  out  of  joint,  and  chaos 
ruled  supreme. 

These  stirring  scenes  must  certainly  have  exercised 
an  important  influence  on  Heine's  after-years.  Such 
intimate  intercourse  as  he  had  with  the  French,  with 
whom  the  country  swarmed,  together  with  his  study  of 
the  French  language,  must  surely  have  impressed  some- 
thing of  the  lightness  and  grace  of  the  French  temper- 
ament on  the  mind  of  the  quick-witted  lad,  now  in  the 
most  impressible  years  of  his  youth.  .  Of  his  school- 
days little  is  known  save  what  may  be  gathered  from  the 
recollections  of  his  brother  Max  and  from  Heine's  own 
humorous  account.  He  was  first  taught  to  read  by  his 
mother,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  woman  of  excellent 
heart  and  sense,  and  of  whom  Heine  always  speaks  with 
great  affection  and  respect.  Next  he  attended  a  private 
school,  under  the  charge  of  a  Jewish  co-religionist.  It 
will  be  seen  as  we  proceed  in  this  sketch  that  Heine's 
Jewish  birth  was  a  most  potent  influence  in  shaping  his 
career.  In  the  parental  home  he  was  strictly  required  to 
conform  to  the  Jewish  religious  customs  and  laws.  An 
amusing  story  is  told  of  the  eight-year-old  boy.  One 
S:itur(lay  Heinrich  was  playing  with  several  comrades 
in  the  garden  attached  to  a  neighbor's  dwelling;  over 
the  garden-wall  hung  a  vine,  loaded  down  with  luscious 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  u 

grapes.  The  boys  cast  wistful  glances  towards  them, 
but,  mindful  of  the  Jewish  prohibition,  not  to  break 
or  tear  anything  on  the  Sabbath-day,  they  turned  their 
backs  on  the  tempting  fruit  and  continued  their  games. 
But  little  Heinrich  stood  contemplatively  gazing  at  the 
purple  bunches.  Suddenly  he  approached  quite  near 
to  the  wall,  and  with  his  mouth  plucked  off  and  ate  the 
grapes  one  by  one.  '*  Oh,  Heinrich  !"  cried  his  horri- 
fied comrades,  ''what  have  you  done?"  "Nothing 
wrong,"  laughed  the  young  rascal.  "We  are  forbid- 
den to  pluck  anything  with  the  hand,  but  nothing  is 
said  about  the  mouth." 

All  accounts  agree  that  he  was  a  wild,  unruly  boy, 
and  to  manage  him  gave  no  little  trouble  to  his  parents. 
As  punishment,  he  was  locked  up  in  a  hen-house ;  but 
this  imprisonment  soon  failed  to  inspire  fear,  and  Harry 
managed  to  convert  his  place  of  confinement  into  a 
place  of  amusement.  He  could  imitate  very  naturally 
the  crowing  of  a  cock,  and  was  thus  wont  to  set  all  the 
poultry  of  the  neighborhood  in  an  uproar.  The  hen- 
nery soon  became  a  favorite  resort  for  the  children ; 
and  twenty  years  after,  Heinrich  dedicated  to  his  sister 
Charlotte  the  charming  verses : 

"  My  child,  we  once  were  children, 
Two  children  gay  and  small ; 
We  crept  into  the  hen-house, 
And  hid  ourselves,  heads  and  all. 

"  We  clucked  just  like  the  poultry. 

And  when  folks  came  by,  you  know — 
Kickery-kee  ! — they  started, 
And  thought  'twas  a  real  crow. 


12  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

"  The  chests  which  lay  in  our  court-yard, 
We  papered  so  smooth  and  nice; 
We  thought  they  were  splendid  houses, 
And  lived  in  them,  snug  as  mice. 

"  When  the  old  cat  of  our  neighbor 
Dropped  in  for  a  social  call, 
We  made  her  bows  and  courtesies, 
And  compliments  and  all. 

"We  asked  of  her  health,  and  kindly 
Inquired  how  all  had  sped  : — 
Since  then,  to  many  a  tabby 
The  self-sajne  things  we've  said. 

••  And  oft.  like  good  old  people. 
We  talked  with  sober  tongue, 
Declaring  that  all  was  better 

In  the  days  when  we  were  young. 

"  How  piety,  faith,  and  true  love 
Had  vanished  quite  away; 
And  how  dear  we  found  the  coffee. 
How  scarce  the  money  to-day. 

"  So  all  goes  rolling  onward, 
The  merry  days  of  youth, — 
Money,  the  world  and  its  seasons, 
And  honesty,  love,  and  truth."* 

In  his  tenth  year,  he  entered  a  school  called  the 
Lyceum,  and  which  was  under  the  control  of  the  Jesuits. 
Heine  always  spoke  kindly  and  gratefully  of  his  Jesuit 
teachers,  espec  ially  of  the  rector  Schallmeyer.  It  seems 
that  the  latter  urged  Heine's  mother  to  devote  the 
bright  and  promising  lad  to  the  service  of  the  Catholic 
Cluirch,  which  circumstance  affords  occasion   to  the 

•  From  Leland's  "  Pictures  of  Travel." 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL.  j^ 

poet,  in  his  Confessions,  for  a  highly  humorous  picture 
of  *'what  might  have  been"  had  the  rector  Schall- 
meyer's  advice  been  adopted.  In  his  *' Reisebilder" 
he  gives  an  equally  amusing  account  of  his  school 
studies : 

''  The  next  day  the  world  was  again  all  in  order,  and 
we  had  school  as  before,  and  things  were  got  by  heart 
as  before, — the  Roman  Emperors,  chronology — the 
nojnina  in  im,  the  verba  irregularia — Greek,  Hebrew, 
geography,  German,  mental  arithmetic — Lord !  my 
head  is  still  giddy  with  it ! — all  must  be  thoroughly 
learned.  And  much  of  it  was  eventually  to  my  ad- 
vantage. For  had  I  not  learned  the  Roman  Emperors 
by  heart,  it  would  subsequently  have  been  a  matter  of 
perfect  indifference  to  me  whether  Niebuhr  had  or 
had  not  proved  that  they  never  really  existed. 

''  But,  oh  !  the  trouble  I  had  at  school  with  my  learn- 
ing to  count ! — and  it  went  even  worse  with  the  ready 
reckoning.  I  understood  best  of  all  subtraction,  and 
for  this  I  had  a  very  practical  rule, — 'Four  can't  be 
taken  from  three,  therefore  I  must  borrow  one;' — but  I 
advise  all,  in  such  a  case,  to  borrow  a  few  extra  dollars, 
for  no  one  can  tell  what  may  happen. 

''  But,  oh  !  the  Latin  ! — Madame,  you  can  really  have 
no  idea  of  what  a  mess  it  is.  The  Romans  would  never 
have  found  time  to  conquer  the  world  if  they  had  been 
obliged  first  to  learn  Latin.  Lucky  dogs  !  they  already 
knew  in  their  cradles  the  nouns  ending  in  im, 

*'  The  verba  irregularia  are  distinguished  from  the 
verbis  regularibus  by  the  fact  that  the  boys  in  learning 
them  get  more  whippings. 

2* 


14  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

"  German  I  learned  from  Professor  Schramm,  a  man 
who  had  written  a  book  on  eternal  peace,  and  in  whose 
class  my  school-fellows  quarreled  and  fought  with  un- 
usual vigor. 

"  I  also  did  well  in  mythology,  and  took  a  real  de- 
light in  the  mob  of  gods  and  goddesses  who  ran  so  jolly 
naked  about  the  world.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  was 
a  school-boy  in  ancient  Rome  who  knew  the  principal 
points  of  his  catechism — that  is,  the  loves  of  Venus — 
better  than  I." 

Maximilian  Heine  relates  that  their  mother  was  de- 
sirous that  all  her  children  should  have  a  thorough 
musical  education,  and  selected  the  violin  as  Harry's 
instrument.  The  tedious  practicing  required  to  master 
this  difficult  instrument  soon  exhausted  Harry's  small 
stock  of  patience,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  gainsay  his 
mother's  orders,  and  the  latter,  having  no  reason  to 
doubt  Harry  was  making  satisfactory  progress,  con- 
tinued regularly  to  pay  the  teacher's  monthly  salary,  and 
so  almost  a  year  had  elapsed,  when  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  mother  was  taking  an  airing  in  the  garden  just  at  the 
hour  of  Harry's  music-lesson.  To  her  great  satisfaction, 
she  heard  the  melodious  tones  of  a  well-played  violin. 
Delighted  at  the  wonderful  progress  that  her  son  had 
made,  the  overjoyed  mother  hastened  up-stairs  to  thank 
the  teacher  for  his  great  success.  Imagine  the  mater- 
nal dismay  when  she  saw  Harry  comfortably  stretched 
on  the  sofa,  while  the  teacher  stood  before  the  boy, 
entertaining  him  by  playing  !  Then  it  came  to  light 
that  all  the  music-lessons  had  been  of  this  nature,  and 
that  Harry  could  not  even  play  the  scales  correctly. 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL. 


15 


The  unfaithful  teacher  was  summarily  dismissed,  and 
Harry  was  relieved  from  further  musical  instruction. 

Among  the  first  books  read  by  Heine  was  a  trans- 
lation of  ''Don  Quixote."  This  book  made  a  deep 
impression  on  him,  and  he  refers  to  it  very  often  in 
his  various  writings. 

Swift's  ''Gulliver's  Travels"  was  also  among  his 
favorite  books,  and  "in  after-years  he  discovered  in 
the  fate  of  the  giant,  who  caused  so  much  trouble  and 
fear  to  the  dwarfish  inhabitants  of  Liliput,  a  picture  of 
the  conflict  which  the  banded  coalitions  of  Europe 
waged  against  the  Corsican  hero,  who,  even  when  a 
prisoner  on  the  rocky  island  of  St.  Helena,  was  a  source 
of  continual  anxiety  to  his  conquerors." 

In  the  year  181 1,  and  again  in  the  month  of  May,- 
181 2,  Napoleon  visited  Dusseldorf;  and  never  to  be 
forgotten  was  the  impression  which  the  sight  of  the 
Emperor  and  his  brilliant  cortege  made  on  the  lad. 

But  the  fortunes  of  the  Emperor  were  soon  to  wane, 
and  finally  to  end  sorrowfully  and  sadly  in  the  dreary 
solitude  of  St.  Helena.  The  grand  army  was  annihi- 
lated amid  the  snow  and  ice  of  the  Russian  campaign. 
Then  Germany  threw  off  the  yoke  which  for  so  many 
years  had  fretted  the  national  pride  and  patriotism; 
the  war  of  liberation  called  into  the  ranks  all  the  young 
German  manhood,  and  inspired  them  with  a  resistless 
enthusiasm  ;  the  bloody  battles  of  Dresden  and  Leipsic 
swept  the  tide  of  war  across  the  Rhine,  and  over  to 
French  soil,  where  the  campaign  of  18 14  sent  the  tot- 
tering empire  to  the  earth.  The  return  from  Elba 
brought  one  brief  flush  of  the  olden  glory,  and  then 


1 5  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

at  Waterloo  the  sun  of  Napoleon  set  in  a  sea  of  red, 
never  to  rise  again. 

For  young  Heine,  whose  boyish  mind  was  filled  with 
romance-reading,  these  events  possessed  a  thrilling  and 
sad  interest,  for  he  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  Napoleon. 

The  Jews  of  Germany,  as  a  class,  were  kindly  dis- 
posed towards  Napoleon,  for  he  had  relieved  their  race 
from  the  disabilities  and  unjust  discriminations  which 
for  centuries  had  weighed  so  heavily  upon  them.  In 
placing  the  Jews  upon  an  equality  with  all  others.  Na- 
poleon probably  was  not  influenced  by  a  sense  of  justice 
alone,  for  he  was  in  a  chronic  need  of  soldiers,  and 
by  this  politic  measure  of  enfranchisement  he  gained 
recruits  for  the  conscription. 

In  the  year  1S15,  Heine  was  placed  as  clerk  in  the 
office  of  a  banker  of  Frankfort;  but  the  position  was 
repugnant  to  him,  and  his  stay  in  Frankfort  lasted  only 
a  few  months. 

From  Frankfort  Harry  returned  to  the  parental 
home,  where,  after  many  family  consultations,  it  was 
decided,  probably  by  the  advice  of  his  uncle,  the  rich 
and  benevolent  banker,  Solomon  Heine,  to  send  him 
to  Hamburg,  to  fit  him  for  a  mercantile  career.  This 
was  in  1817.  In  1818  he  opened  a  commission  busi- 
ness, of  which  little  is  known,  save  that  the  title  was 
"Harry  Heine  &  Company,"  and  that  it  went  into 
liciuidation  in  1819.  Heine  seems  to  have  formed  a 
most  violent  antipathy  to  the  city  of  Hamburg,  and  he 
lets  no  opportunity  pass  without  launching  at  the  de- 
tested city  and  its  inhabitants  his  fiercest  shafts  of  scorn 
and  satire.     This  period  of  Heine's  life  seems  to  have 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  jy 

been  a  very  wretched  one.  Added  to  the  annoyance 
of  an  uncongenial  occupation  and  money-troubles  was 
an  unhappy  love-affair,  which  inspired  the  poet's  earli- 
est published  verses,  all  of  which  bear  evidences  of  a 
gloomy,  despondent  spirit.  Little  is  known  of  Heine's 
first  love,  as  he  was  all  his  life  studiously  careful  to 
conceal  her  real  name  from  even  his  most  intimate 
friends.  That  it  was  not  a  mere  ephemeral  affection, 
invoked  in  after-years  to  kindle  the  flame  of  poetry,  is 
evidenced  by  the  fervor  and  earnestness  of  those  poems, 
carrying  conviction  of  their  truth  to  every  sympathetic 
breast,  and  also  by  the  deep  emotion  with  which  Heine 
always  mentions  this  sad  episode  of  his  youth.  Even 
during  his  last  long  illness,  with  the  solemn  shadow  of 
impending  death  upon  him,  the  poet  recurs  to  the  love- 
idyl  of  his  boyhood's  years.  But  he  was  soon  to  leave 
the  hated  streets  and  domes  of  Hamburg.  Harry's 
family  saw  that  he  would  accomplish  no  good  in  a 
mercantile  career,  and  his  uncle,  Solomon  Heine, 
agreed  to  defray  the  expense  of  a  three-years  course 
at  the  university,  stipulating,  however,  that  Harry 
should  study  jurisprudence.  This  involved  the  going 
over  to  Christianity,  for  at  that  time  the  Jews  were  de-' 
barred  from  all  the  liberal  professions  except  medicine. 
Late  in  the  summer  of  1S19  Heine  commenced  at- 
tendance at  the  University  of  Bonn.  During  his  stay 
at  Bonn  Heine  wrote  many  of  the  short  poems  and 
sonnets  afterwards  gathered  together  in  the  "Book  of 
Songs."  In  fact,  he  paid  more  attention  to  the  Muses 
than  to  his  law-studies;  and  it  is  supposed  that  this 
circumstance,  coming  to  the  ears  of  his  relatives,  was 


1 8  INTR  OD  UC  TOR  V  SKE  TCH, 

the  cause  of  Harry's  sudden  retirement  from  Bonn  and 
transfer  to  the  University  of  Gottingen. 

At  Gottingen,  as  at  Bonn,  Heine  paid  very  little 
attention  to  his  law-studies,  but  he  devoted  himself  with 
enthusiasm  to  the  study  of  German  history  and  litera- 
ture. But  his  sojourn  at  Gottingen  was  cut  short  by 
a  quarrel  with  a  fellow-student,  which  nearly  resulted 
in  a  duel.  The  affair  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
university  authorities,  and,  as  a  punishment  for  send- 
ing a  challenge,  Heine  was  suspended  for  six  months. 

In  accordance  with  Heine's  own  wishes,  his  relatives 
designated  the  university  at  Berlin  as  his  next  al?na 
mater  J  and  in  February,  1821,  he  set  out  on  his  journey 
to  the  Prussian  capital. 

To  the  young  student,  so  suddenly  transplanted  from 
the  narrow  domestic  circle  of  his  Jewish  home  and  the 
dry,  pedantic  life  of  a  university  town  to  the  gayety 
and  terilliant  display  of  a  large  city,  it  must  have 
seemed  like  the  sudden  transition  of  a  fairy-tale;  and 
in  his  charming  letters  from  Berlin  he  gives  a  naive 
but  interesting  account  of  the  impression  made  on  him 
by  the  constant  succession  of  operas,  concerts,  theatres, 
amateur  theatricals,  balls,  masquerades,  tea-parties,  as- 
semblies, etc. 

He  tells  us  that  at  this  time  all  Berlin  was  wild  with 
enthusiiusm  over  the  novels  of  Walter  Scott:  '*From 
the  countess  down  to  the  seamstress,  from  the  count  to 
the  errand-boy, — every  one  eagerly  reads  the  romances 
of  the  great  Scottish  novelist.  Our  tender-hearted 
ladies  in  particular  are  quite  enraptured  over  them : 
they  go  to  bed  with  Waverley  and  rise  with  Rob  Roy." 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL. 


19 


Heine's  favorite  resort  while  in  Berlin  was  the  hos- 
pitable mansion  of  Varnhagen  von  Ense  and  his  gifted 
wife  Rahel.  Their  home  in  Berlin  was  the  central 
point  where  all  the  distinguished  personages  of  the 
day  were  wont  to  gather  in  pleasant  literary  and  social 
intercourse.  Varnhagen  and  Rahel  were  the  intimate 
friends  of  Goethe,  at  that  time  the  autocrat  of  German 
literature ;  at  their  house  were  to  be  met  the  Hum- 
boldts,  Friedrich  von  Schlegel,  Ludwig  Tieck,  Fouque, 
Schleiermacher,  Fichte,  Chamisso,  and  a  host  of  other 
celebrities.  Rahel  was  quick  to  discern  that  Heine's 
talents  were  of  no  ordinary  kind,  and  with  womanly 
sympathy  and  excellent  literary  judgment  she  cheered 
the  young  poet  in  the  opening  of  his  career,  counseled 
him  wisely,  and  cleared  many  obstacles  from  his  path. 

Another  favorite  resort  of  the  distinguished  minds 
of  Berlin  was  the  house  of  the  poetess  Elise  von 
Hohenstauffen,  who  hailed  the  youthful  Heine  as  the 
successor  of  Lord  Byron,  of  whose  genius  she  was  an 
enthusiastic  admirer. 

''But  not  alone  in  the  higher  circles  of  Berlin  so- 
ciety did  Heine  learn  the  secrets  of  the  world  and  life. 
Other  less  formal  gatherings  had  also  their  attractions 
for  him.  Certain  casinos  and  wine-cellars  were  at  that 
time  the  rendezvous  for  many  young  men  of  talent, 
who  there  indulged  in  wild  carouses.  A  pretty  bru- 
nette prepared  and  ladled  out  the  punch,  and  was 
rewarded  with  verses  and  kisses." 

During  this  period  Heine's  law-studies  were  entirely 
neglected,  and  he  even  pursued  his  poetical  labors 
rather  desultorily.      Strodtmann  accounts   for  this  as 


20 


JNTR ODLCTORY  SKE TCB, 


follows:  *'In  the  spring  of  1821  Heine  received  the 
tidings  that  she  to  whom  his  heart  had  clung  with 
such  a  passionate  devotion  through  so  many  years  of 
changing  hope  and  fear  was  now  lost  to  him  forever. 
A  wealthier  suitor  had  won  her  hand." 

It  is  perhaps  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  a  tempera- 
ment such  as  Heine's  should  seek  distraction  wherever 
it  might,  in  social  enjoyments  and  in  mad  revels  and 
excesses.  But  after  a  time  poetry  became  again  his 
great  consolation.  From  his  wounded  heart  streamed 
the  most  beautiful  and  touching  love-poems  the  world 
has  ever  known./  The  savage  irony  with  which  he 
seemed  to  mock  at  his  own  sufferings  but  added  to  the 
effect.  Were  it  unalloyed  sentimentality,  many  a  reader 
would  be  tempted  to  make  some  cynic  criticism ;  but 
the  poet  himself  anticipates  and  disarms  the  critic. 
Whether  this  ironic  anticlimax  be  merely  artistic  de- 
sign, or  whether  it  be  the  savage  irony  of  a  deeply- 
wounded  and  shamefully-betrayed  heart,  it  were  diffi- 
cult to  decide.  Probably  Heine  himself  did  not  know, 
but  wrote  from  an  irresistible  poetic  impulse. 

The  almost  constant  burden  of  these  early  poems  is 
the  sorrow  of  an  unhappy  love,  told  over  and  over 
again,  but  always  under  new  forms  and  robed  in  new 
beauties.  A  lurid  passion  gleams  through  them  which 
every  reader  must  perceive  is  beyond  the  power  of  mere 
art.  Every  one  must  instinctively  feel  that  the  pen 
which  could  infuse  into  the  old  and  oft-repeated  story 
of  unhappy  love  such  irresistible  pathos  must  have 
been  dijipcd  in  the  author's  own  heart-blood.  We  feel 
thai  wc  arc    not  being  trifled  with  by  some   fanciful 


BIOGRAPHICAL  AND    CRITICAL,  2 1 

coinage  of  the  brain,  but  that  these  are  verily  the  elo- 
quent plaints  of  a  poetic  and  suffering  soul.  These 
pictures  pf  an  intense,  hopeless  love  are  relieved  from 
their  sombreness  by  their  lovely  frame-work  of  water, 
earth,  and  sky,  and,  as  we  have  already  pointed  out, 
the  sharp-pointed  irony  of  the  concluding  lines  pre- 
vents the  verses  from  degenerating  into  overdone  sen- 
timentality. Moreover,  Heine  had  an  excellent  ear  for 
rhythm,  and  there  is  a  charm  in  the  harmonious  metres 
that  strikes  pleasantly  on  the  cultured  ear,  like  "sweet 
bells  played  in  tune." 

In  1823,  Heine's  poems,  which  had  hitherto  only 
appeared  in  magazines  and  literary  journals,  were  first 
published  in  book  form,  Heine  receiving  no  pay,  ex- 
cept forty  copies  of  the  book.  But,  as  Strodtmann  says, 
*'  What  young  author  would  not  joyfully  and  impa- 
tiently have  accepted  such  an  opportunity  to  lead  his 
bark  from  the  quiet  inland  waters  and  launch  it  upon 
the  broad  ocean  of  immortality?" 

The  result  of  his  first  undertaking  was  very  encour- 
aging to  the  young  poet,  and  he  devoted  himself  with 
renewed  ardor  and  hopefulness  to  his  career  as  author. 
Poems,  tragedies,  critical  articles,  humorous  sketches, 
and  letters  followed  one  another  in  rapid  succession. 
Political  questions  were  freely  touched  upon  in  the 
various  prose  writings,  some  of  them  being  woefully 
mangled  by  the  censor,  a  personage  with  whom  Heine 
was  soon  to  come  into  frequent  conflict. 

A  few  words  of  explanation  to  the  American  reader 
as  to  the  nature  of  the  censor's  duties  may  not  come 
amiss,   for   in    the   history  of  German  literature    the 

3 


22  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

censor  plays  a  not  unimportant  role.  We  are  told  in 
Spartan  history  that  the  midwives  were  instructed  to 
kill  at  birth  all  sickly  and  defornied  infants,  so  that 
the  state  should  have  only  healthy  men  and  women. 
A  similar  office  was  in  Germany  assigned  to  the  cen- 
sors, who  were  to  officiate  as  literary  midwives  at  the 
birth  of  printed  thoughts,  and  to  strangle  such  as  the 
governments  might  not  wish  to  live.  But  the  modern 
German  custom  is  generally  the  reverse  of  the  Spartan, 
and  the  weak  and  imbecile  ideas  were  welcome  to  live, 
while  the  strong  virile  thoughts,  that  might  grow  dan- 
gerous to  the  rulers,  were  condemned  to  death.  To 
drop  metaphor,  all  books,  pamphlets,  etc.,  were  to  be 
submitted  before  publication  to  a  censor  appointed  by 
the  state,  and  this  censor  was  authorized  to  erase  such 
portions  of  a  work  as  he  in  his  sapiency  might  deem 
unfit  for  publication.  In  some  cases  he  might  even 
refuse  the  right  of  publication  altogether. 

The  authors  who,  like  Heine,  were  opposed  to  the 
orthodox  views  in  religion  and  to  conservative  opinions 
in  politics,  were  driven  to  their  wits'  end  to  frame  their 
language  so  as  to  convey  directly  or  by  implication 
what  they  wished  to  say,  and  yet  not  fall  within  the 
censor's  interdict.  Heine  especially  delighted  in  going 
to  the  very  border  of  the  forbidden  land;  and  the 
public  at  large  were  highly  amused  at  the  ingenuity 
and  shrewdness  by  which  the  censor  was  outwitted. 

In  May,  1823,  Heine  paid  a  visit  to  Lilncburg,  where 
his  parents  were  then  residing.  In  the  quiet  of  this 
small  town  he  expected  to  be  able  more  calmly  to  ma- 
ture the  plans  for  his  future,  hoping  also  to  gain  respite 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL.  23 

from  the  terrible  nervous  headaches  with  which  he  had 
been  afflicted  for  many  years.  Naturally  of  a  very 
excitable,  nervous  temperament,  leading  a  wild  and 
dissipated  life,  with  the  wear  and  tear  of  literary  pur- 
suits, often  harassed  by  money-troubles,  all  these  made 
their  influences  felt,  and  brought  Heine  often  to  the 
very  verge  of  distraction.  About  this  period  he  wrote 
to  a  frtend  that  he  was  ''  troubled  with  headache  eight 
days  out  of  the  seven." 

The  quiet  little  city  he  describes  as  '*  the  home  of 
ennui."  He  also  complains  of  the  religious  prejudice 
existing  almost  everywhere  against  Jews:  '*  Even  our 
little  dog  is  maltreated  by  the  dogs  of  our  Christian 
neighbors," 

For  quite  a  while  his  headaches  would  not  permit 
him  either  to  study  or  to  compose ;  but  he  paid  much 
attention  to  the  studies  of  his  sister  and  brothers.  It 
seems  that  Maximilian  was  quite  expert  in  writing 
verses  in  the  hexameter  metre,  a  form  in  which  Harry 
was  never  successful.  He  essayed  it  once,  but,  on  scan- 
ning a  line,  Max  quickly  detected  that  the  hexameter 
had  only  five  feet.  In  vexation  Harry  threw  the  verses 
aside.  A  few  mornings  afterwards  he  awakened  Max 
and  related  a  wonderful  dream  that  he  had  dreamed  : 
''Just  imagine  what  a  horrible  night  I  have  passed! 
Soon  after  midnight,  just  as  I  had  fallen  asleep,  I  felt  a 
weight  on  me  as  if  the  Alps  were  pressing  me  down  : 
that  ill-fated  hexameter,  with  five  feet,  came  limping 
to  my  bedside,  and,  with  clamor  and  terrible  threats, 
demanded  of  me  its  sixth  foot.  Shylock  himself  did 
not  more  obstinately  exact  his  pound  of  flesh  than  did 


24  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

this  impertinent  hexameter  insist  upon  its  lacking  foot. 
It  sustained  its  claim  by  quoting  classic  usage,  and  only 
left  upon  condition  that  I  should  never  more  attempt 
to  write  an  hexameter." 

In  January,  1824,  Heine  returned  to  Gottingen,  and 
for  over  a  year  applied  himself  to  his  law-studies,  passing 
his  examination  in  the  spring  of  1825.  Before  receiving 
his  final  dij^loma,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  undergo 
the  ceremony  of  baptism.  Concerning  this  step  Heine 
has  freely  expressed  himself  in  his  public  writings  and 
private  letters.  He  never  concealed  from  himself  the 
full  disgrace  of  his  act,  nor  attempted  to  gloss  over  his 
shame,  as  others  in  the  same  position  sought  to  do. 
Thus  he  writes  to  a  friend  :  *'  Do  not  try  to  view  my 
act  in  a  favorable  light.  I  assure  you  that  the  stealing 
of  silver  spoons  would  have  been  less  repugnant  to  me, 
were  not  theft  punishable  by  law."  Then,  in  a  more 
cynic  vein,  he  continues  :  "  Last  Saturday  I  visited  the 
synagogue,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  an  excel- 
lent sermon  preached  against  those  mercenary  Jews 
who  had  permitted  themselves  to  be  baptized,  forsaking 
the  religion  of  their  fathers  in  the  hope  of  office  and 
emolument."  But  although  Heine  spoke  thus  jestingly 
of  the  public  comments  on  his  baptism,  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted  that  he  felt  the  sting  acutely.  Nor  did  his 
apostasy  in  the  least  benefit  him  financially  or  socially. 
The  Jews  hated  him  as  a  mercenary  apostate,  and  by 
Christians  he  was  still  looked  upon  as  one  of  that  de- 
spised race, — a  Jew.  He  had  sold  himself,  his  honor, 
his  manhood,  the  respect  of  his  friends  and  posterity, 
and  had  been  cheated  out  of  the  price  !    All  his  bright 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL. 


25 


hopes  of  securing  a  fixed  position  and  income  turned 
to  Dead-Sea  fruit. 

With  an  apparent  contradiction,  which  is  neverthe- 
less true  to  human  nature,  from  this  time  Heine  writes 
in  a  more  just  and  appreciative  spirit  of  his  fellow-Jews, 
who  have  hitherto  been  so  often  the  butt  of  his  mock- 
ery. He  confesses  that  he  has  underrated  and  been 
blind  to  many  of  the  noble  qualities  of  his  race.  ' '  How 
deeply  rooted  is  the  legend  of  the  'Wandering  Jew'  ! 
In  the  lonely  forest-valley  the  mother  tells  the  myste- 
rious story  to  her  awe-stricken  children,  and  the  fright- 
ened little  ones  gather  more  closely  around  the  hearth. 
Without,  all  is  darkness  and  night.  Suddenly  the  sound 
of  the  post-horn  is  heard,  and  Jewish  peddlers  ride  by, 
traveling  to  the  Leipsic  fair.  But  we,  who  are  the 
heroes  of  that  fairy-tale,  know  it  not." 

In  the  fall  of  1825  the  *'  Harz-Reise"  was  published. 
Heine  describes  this  work  as  a  mixture  of  "word- 
pictures  of  natural  scenery,  wit,  poetry,  and  observa- 
tions, after  the  manner  of  Washington  Irving."  The 
"Harz-Reise"  is  generally  considered  one  of  Heine's 
most  successful  works,  and  raised  him  high  on  the  pin- 
nacles of  fame. 

From  this  time  forward  his  life  was  entirely  devoted 
to  literary  pursuits.  In  1826  appeared  his  book  "  Le 
Grand." 

The  eloquent  praise  of  Napoleon,  and  the  attacks  on 
the  governments,  the  censors,  the  nobility,  religion, 
and  the  priesthood,  all  combined  to  make  the  book 
very  obnoxious  to  the  rulers,  and  its  sale  and  cir- 
culation were  forbidden  in  Hanover,  Prussia,  Austria, 
3* 


26  INTRODUCTORY  SA'ETCIT, 

Mecklenburg,  and  many  of  the  smaller  of  the  German 
States.  All  this  only  excited  the  curiosity  of  the  pub- 
lic, and,  combined  with  the  beauty  and  impassioned 
fervor  of  Heine's  poetical  prose,  the  keen  wit,  the 
droll  humor,  the  touching  pathos,  insured  for  the  book 
wider  attention,  and  for  the  author's  talent  a  more 
general  recognition,  than  any  of  his  previous  works. 

**  It  was  quite  unnecessary  for  the  governments  to 
place  your  book  under  the  ban  :  it  would  have  been 
read  without  that,"  was  the  witty  comment  of  Heine's 
friend  Moser. 

His  uncle,  finding  him  determined  to  adopt  a  lite- 
rary life,  and  no  doubt  gratified  at  his  nephew's  fame, 
generously  aided  him,  notwithstanding  Heine's  extrav- 
agance and  his  insolent  manner  when  called  to  account. 

In  the  early  part  of  1827,  Heine  made  a  trip  to 
England,  concerning  which  his  brother  Max  relates 
the  following  anecdote,  which  illustrates  both  Heine's 
character  and  the  relations  which  existed  between  him 
and  his  uncle.  The  latter  had  already  furnished  him 
with  funds  for  his  trip  to  England,  when,  before  start- 
ing, Heine  suggested  that,  for  appearance'  sake,  he 
ouglit  also  to  have  a  letter  of  credit  on  the  Roth- 
schilds. The  good-natured  uncle  thought  this  not 
amiss,  and  gave  his  nephew  a  letter  of  credit  to  the 
amount  of  four  hundred  pounds,  together  with  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  Baron  Rothschild.  His  last  words 
in  parting  were  to  caution  his  nephew  not  under  any 
circumstances  to  make  use  of  the  letter  of  credit,  as  it 
was  merely  intended  as  a  formality,  to  add  weight  to 
the   letter  of  introduction.     But   Heine  was   scarcely 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL. 


V 


twenty-four  hours  in  London  before  he  presented  his 
letter  of  credit  and  collected  the  four  hundred  pounds. 
Then  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  with  Baron 
James  Rothschild,  the  head  of  the  firm. 

The  uncle,  Solomon  Heine,  was  one  morning  com- 
placently sipping  his  coffee  and  smoking  his  long  pipe, 
meauAvhile  reading  the  letters  just  received  from  Lon- 
don. It  was  the  first  return  mail  since  Heine's  de- 
parture, and  contained  a  letter  from  Baron  Rothschild, 
speaking  in  very  complimentary  terms  of  his  charming 
nephew,  whose  acquaintance  had  afforded  him  much 
pleasure,  and  also  announcing  that  he  had  the  honor 
of  paying  to  him  the  sum  of  four  hundred  pounds,  as 
per  instructions.  The  pipe  fell  from  Solomon  Heine's 
hand,  and  in  a  fury  he  excitedly  paced  the  room, 
inveighing  against  the  spendthrift  nephew,  who  was 
ruining  him  by  his  extravagance.  Heine's  mother 
wrote  to  her  son,  taking  him  severely  to  task  for  thus 
abusing  the  confidence  of  his  uncle  and  benefactor. 
To  this  Heine  replied,  jestingly,  ''All  people  are  subject 
to  caprices.  What  my  uncle  gave  while  in  good  humor, 
he  might  revoke  in  a  fit  of  ill  temper;  he  might  have 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  write  by  the  next  mail  to 
Rothschild  that  the  letter  of  credit  was  only  given  for 
form's  sake,  and  was  not  to  be  cashed.  The  annals  of 
banking-houses  are  not  without  record  of  such  cases. 
As  a  prudent,  provident  man,  it  was  my  duty  not  to 
run  any  risks.  Verily,  dear  mother,  my  uncle  himself 
would  never  have  become  so  rich  had  he  not  followed 
the  same  rule." 

On   Heine's   return    there  was  a  stormy  scene,  in 


28  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

which  Heine  haughtily  told  the  astonished  uncle  that 
"he  ought  to  be  proud  of  bearing  the  same  name." 
Notwithstanding  his  nephew's  arrogance  and  extrava- 
gance, Solomon  Heine  eventually  forgave  him,  and 
during  his  whole  life  generously  furnished  him  with 
money,  and  by  his  will  secured  to  him  a  life  pen- 
sion. 

In  1 82 7,  Heine  went  to  Munich  as  assistant  editor 
of  the  "Politische  Annalen."  Shortly  after,  he  trav- 
eled through  Italy.  In  1829  he  returned  to  Germany, 
and  published  his  account  of  the  trip  from  ''Munich 
to  Genoa,"  ''The  Baths  of  Lucca,"  "The  City  of 
Lucca,"  and  "English  Fragments." 

His  attacks  on  the  various  German  governments  had 
for  several  years  been  growing  more  and  more  bitter; 
so  that  towards  the  year  1830  he  had  good  reason  to 
fear  arrest  and  imprisonment  for  his  political  writings. 
He  was  haunted  with  the  idea  that  he  was  dogged  by 
spies.  Then,  too,  his  health,  never  very  robust,  seems 
to  have  been  still  further  undermined  by  the  excite- 
ments of  such  a  life.  All  accounts  agree  that  at  this 
period  Heine  was  very  wretched  and  low-spirited. 

But  an  event  was  soon  to  take  place  that  awoke  him 
from  his  lethargy  and  despondency.  He  was  spending 
the  summer  at  Helgoland,  when  the  news  of  the  July 
Revolution  in  France  reached  him.  This  event,  which 
startled  Europe  and  made  all  the  crowned  heads  trem- 
ble on  their  thrones,  exerted  a  most  potent  influence 
on  all  of  Heine's  future  career.  In  his  Confessions 
he  gives  a  humorous  account  of  his  journey  to  Paris, 
where  he  arrived  on  the  3d  of  May,  1831.     In  many 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL. 


29 


of  his  writings  Heine  has  described  in  glowing  terms 
the  wonderful  impression  made  upon  him  by  Paris  and 
the  Parisians.  Everything  pleased  him,  and  he  was 
soon  as  much  at  home  in  Paris  as  any  born  Parisian. 
To  one  of  his  friends  he  writes,  "If  any  one  asks  you 
how  I  fare  in  Paris,  tell  the  questioner  that  I  feel  like 
a  fish  in  water,  or,  rather,  you  may  say  that  when  one 
fish  meets  another  in  the  sea  and  inquires  after  its  well- 
being,  the  answer  is,  I  feel  like  Heine  in  Paris." 

Heine  was  amply  provided  with  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  the  most  distinguished  literary  men  of  Paris ; 
but  his  fame  had  preceded  him,  and  he  was  soon  a 
welcome  guest  in  all  the  salons  of  Paris  where  wit  and 
genius  were  appreciated.  He  had  made  arrangements 
with  the  publisher  Cotta  to  be  the  Paris  correspondent 
of  the  •'*  Augsburg  Gazette."  Soon  after  his  arrival  in 
Paris  he  wrote  a  description  of  the  Art  Exhibition  of 
1 83 1,  a  great  portion  of  which  appears  in  this  volume. 
1832  was  the  terrible  cholera  year,  when  all  who  could 
fled  from  the  plague-stricken  city.  But  in  this  period 
which  tried  men's  souls,  a  noble  trait  of  Heine's  char- 
acter manifested  itself.  A  son  of  his  uncle  and  bene- 
factor lay  ill  in  Paris,  and  Heine  remained  faithfully 
by  his 'bedside,  nursing  and  caring  for  him.  With 
dauntless  composure  he  continued  to  write  for  the 
"Augsburg  Gazette"  accounts  of  the  terrible  scenes 
that  were  taking  place  around  him.  The  horrors  of  that 
period  were  never  more  eloquently  or  more  touchingly 
described. 

His  letters  to  the  "Augsburg  Gazette"  attracted 
much  attention  in  Germany  and  in  France,  and  the 


30  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

usual  fate  of  him  who  strives  to  be  fair  and  just  towards 
both  parties  now  befell  Heine.  The  conservatives 
condemned  him  for  his  attacks  on  the  monarchy  and 
for  his  praise  of  the  virtue  and  integrity  of  many  of 
the  republicans.  On  the  other  hand,  the  radicals  were 
wroth  at  him  because  he  would  not  go  full  length  with 
them,  and  because  he  criticised  severely  many  of  their 
extreme  views.  His  moderation  was  misunderstood 
and  denounced.  It  was  even  charged  that  he  was 
secretly  in  the  pay  of  the  Austrian  government.  As 
this  charge  was  brought  against  him  by  a  defaulting 
Austrian  merchant  who  had  run  away  from  his  cred- 
itors and  who  now  came  to  Paris  to  play  the  role  of  a 
political  martyr,  it  evoked  from  Heine  the  witty  retort, 
**I  am  as  little  paid  by  the  Austrians  as  the  Austrians 
are  paid  by  you." 

Gradually,  however,  Heine's  letters  became  more 
radical,  and  provoked  the  German  governments  to  such 
a  degree  that,  on  the  28th  of  June,  1S32,  the  German 
Diet  prohibited  the  circulation  of  all  his  past  and  future 
writings,  and  issued  warrants  for  his  arrest  should  he 
dare  to  set  foot  on  German  soil.  This  decree  was 
rigidly  enforced,  and  Heine  was  compelled  for  a  time 
to  abandon  German  journalism  and  to  publish  his 
writings  in  France. 

In  1833  appeared  his  work  on  "Religion  and  Phi- 
losophy in  Germany,"  and  a  review  of  "  The  Romantic 
School."  These  two  works  together  form  what  is 
generally  known  as  his  book  "  De  TAllemand."  This 
work  was  surreptitiously  published  and  circulated  in 
Germany,  and,  we  are  told,  "produced  a  perfect  storm 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  ^I 

of  fury.  Democrats,  Pietists,  Teutomaniacs,  and  state 
officials  united  in  denouncing  it." 

In  swift  succession  followed  letters  to  friends  and  to 
newspapers,  magazine  articles,  tales,  essays,  poems,  art 
criticisms,  the  most  prominent  of  which  are  ''The 
Florentine  Nights;"  ''The  Memoirs  of  Herr  von 
Schnabelewopski ;"  "The  Rabbi  of  Bacharach ;" 
"  Elementargeister  ;"  "  Ueber  den  Denunzianten  ;" 
"  Der  Schwaben-Spiegel ;"  an  article  on  Ludwig 
Borne;  a  series  of  exquisite  criticisms  on  French  art, 
drama,  and  literature,  in  the  form  of  letters  to  August 
Lewald  ;  "  Shakspeare's  Maids  and  Matrons  ;"  a  criti- 
cal article  on  "Don  Quixote  ;"  and  the  poem  of  "  Atta 
Troll." 

In  1840,  Heine  again  became  correspondent  of  the 
"Augsburg  Gazette,"  his  various  contributions  to  this 
journal  being  afterwards  collected  under  the  title  of 
"Lutetia."  The  restrictions  against  his  writings  and 
himself  having  been  greatly  relaxed,  in  1843  ^"'^  made 
a  visit  to  Germany,  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
his  aged  mother,  for  whom  his  affection  seems  never  to 
have  wavered  during  his  long  and  checkered  career. 
On  his  return  to  Paris  he  published  a  long  poem  en- 
titled "Germany,  a  Winter's  Tale." 

We  have  in  the  earlier  portion  of  this  sketch  spoken 
of  the  headaches  and  terrible  nervous  attacks  with 
which  Heine  was  so  much  troubled.  He  was  never  for 
any  long  period  free  from  his  ailments.  So  early  as 
1833  he  had  a  slight  attack  of  paralysis  in  his  hand, 
and  he  frequently  complained  that  his  eyesight  was  fail- 
ing.   In  1847  ^^i*^  disease  assailed  him^n  an  aggravated 


32 


INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 


form.  Commencing  with  a  paralysis  of  the  left  eye,  it 
extended  presently  to  both  eyes,  and  finally  terminated 
in  paralysis  and  atrophy  of  the  legs.  One  eye  had  lost 
its  sight  entirely,  and  he  was  obliged  to  hold  up  the 
eyelid  of  the  other  with  his  hand  whenever  he  wished 
to  see.  In  1848  he  left  the  house  for  the  last  time. 
His  account  of  it  is  very  pathetic: 

**  It  was  in  May,  1848,  on  the  day  when  I  last  went 
out,  that  I  bade  farewell  to  the  sweet  idol  I  had  wor- 
shiped in  my  happy  days.  With  great  labor  I  dragged 
myself  as  far  as  the  Louvre,  and  I  nearly  broke  down 
as  I  entered  the  lofty  hall  where  the  ever-blessed  god- 
dess of  beauty,  our  beloved  Lady  of  Milo,  stands  upon 
her  pedestal.  I  lay  a  long  while  at  her  feet,  and  wept 
so  bitterly  that  even  the  stone  must  have  pitied  me;  and 
the  goddess  did  look  compassionately  down  on  me,  but 
with  so  little  comfort  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  would 
say,  *  Dost  thou  not  see  that  I  have  no  arms,  and  there- 
fore cannot  help  thee?'  " 

Now  sadder  and  sadder  grows  our  story.  For  eight 
long  years  he  was  confined  to  his  couch,  scarcely  able 
to  turn  about,  tortured  by  racking  pains,  with  hardly 
a  breath  of  fresh  air,  with  the  constant  hum  of  the  busy 
city  torturing  his  sensitive  nerves.  Is  it  a  wonder  that 
he  longed  for  death  to  relieve  him  from  his  sorrows  ? 
Can  anything  be  more  touching  than  his  account  of  his 
long,  weary  waiting  for  death? 

**  My  body  is  so  excessively  shrunken  that  nothing 
is  left  of  me  but  mere  voice,  "and  my  bed  reminds  me 
of  the  mcloilious  grave  of  the  enchanter  Merlin,  which 
lies  in  the   forc|»t  of  l-Jrozeliand,  in   Brittany,  under- 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  33 

neath  high  oaks,  whose  branches  toss,  like  green  flames, 
towards  heaven.  x\h,  I  envy  thee  those  trees  and  their 
fresh  waving,  brother  Merlin,  for  not  one  green  leaf 
rustles  over  my  mattress-grave  here  in  Paris,  where 
early  and  late  I  hear  only  the  rumbling  of  carriages, 
and  a  ceaseless  hammering,  scolding,  and  jingling  of 
pianos, — a  grave  without  rest,  death  without  the  priv- 
ilege of  the  dead,  who  have  no  bills  to  pay,  no  letters 
and  no  books  to  write.  This  is  a  sorrowful  case.  My 
measure  was  taken  long  ago  for  my  coffin  and  for  my 
obituary,  but  I  die  so  slowly  that  by  this  time  it  has 
grown  to  be  as  tiresome  to  me  as  to  my  friends." 

But  in  spite  of  his  terrible  sufferings,  he  bore  them 
with  a  courage  and  a  cheerfulness  which  were  truly 
heroic.  His  wit  and  love  of  raillery  seemed  never  to 
forsake  him,  and  between  his  writhings  some  jest  or 
bon-mot  would  flutter  from  his  thin,  bloodless  lips. 
During  his  long  illness  he  was  faithfully  nursed  by  his 
wife,  Matilda. 

"In  his  later  years,  Heine  returned  from  unbounded 
skepticism  (if  not  to  the  evangelical  faith,  at  least)  to 
theism.  He  had  the  Bible  often  read  to  him,  and  he 
regarded  it  as  a  newly-discovered  treasure.  As  he  still 
retained  his  love  of  paradox  and  mystification,  the 
real  degree  of  his  conversion  became  a  subject  of  no 
little  controversy  and  comment,"  The  Confessions, 
which  form  part  of  this  volume,  and  the  following 
quotation  from  the  preface  to  "  Romancero,"  will  give 
the  reader  some  idea  of  Heine's  manner  of  expressing 
himself  on  this  subject : 

"When  on  his  death-bed,   one  naturally  becomes 
4 


^.  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

tender-hearted  and  sentimental,  and  wishes  to  be  at 
peace  with  God  and  the  world.  I  confess  that  many  a 
one  have  I  scratched,  many  a  one  have  I  bitten,  and  I 
was  never  a  lamb.  But,  believe  me,  those  lambs  that 
are  so  highly  praised  for  their  mildness  and  humility 
would  not  bear  themselves  so  meekly  if  they  but  pos- 
sessed the  tiger's  teeth  and  claws. 
■  "  I  may  take  credit  to  myself  for  having  seldom  used 
my  natural  weapons,  and,  since  I  myself  need  the  mercy 
of  God,  I  have  amnestied  all  my  enemies.  Many  a 
clever  satire  which  I  had  directed  against  personages 
of  very  high  and  of  very  low  degree  has  been  omitted 
from  this  volume  on  that  account,  and  poems  that  con- 
tained the  least  irreverent  allusion  to  the  dear  Lord 
himself  I  have  with  anxious  care  committed  to  the 
flames,  for  better  that  the  verses  should  burn  than  their 
author. 

"Yes,  I  have  made  my  peace  alike  with  the  Creator 
and  his  creatures,  to  the  great  chagrin  of  my  infidel 
friends,  who  have  reproached  me  for  my  backsliding 
into  the  old  superstitions,  as  they  are  pleased  to  call 
my  return  to  God.  The  whole  priesthood  of  atheism 
has  anathematized  me,  and  there  are  certain  fanatical 
priests  of  unbelief  who  would  willingly  have  racked  me 
to  make  me  confess  my  heresies.  But,  fortunately,  they 
can  command  no  other  instrument  of  torture  than  their 
writings. 

''Yes,  I  have  returned  to  God  like  the  prodigal  son, 
after  for  a  long  time  feeding  swine  with  the  Hegelians. 
Was  it  my  sufferings  that  led  me  back?  Perhaps  a  less 
paltry  uiulivc.     A  divine  homesickness  fell  upon  me, 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL. 


35 


and  impelled  me  onward,  through  the  forests  and  ravines 
and  over  the  dizzy  paths  of  dialectics. 

*^  On  the  road  I  found  the  god  of  the  pantheists,  but 
I  had  no  use  for  him.  This  vague,  mystical  being, 
which  is  interwoven  and  ingrown  with  the  world  itself, 
is  simply  imprisoned  therein,  without  power  and  with- 
out volition. 

^'*  *  *  When  one  yearns  for  a  god  that  may  be  a 
help  and  support, — and  that  is,  after  all,  the  main  con- 
sideration,— his  personality,  his  existence  as  a  some- 
thing apart  from  and  above  the  universe,  his  holy  attri- 
butes, his  goodness,  his  omniscience,  his  justice, — all 
these  must  be  taken  for  granted.  The  immortality  of  the 
soul,  and  the  continuation  of  our  existence  after  death, 
are  then  thrown  into  the  bargain,  just  as  the  butcher 
gives  gratis  to  his  good  customers  a  fine  marrow-bone. 
Such  a  marrow-bone  is,  in  the  French  kitchen-language, 
called  la  rejouissance,  and  it  makes  an  excellent  broth, 
which  to  the  poor  languishing  invalid  is  very  palatable 
and  nourishing.  •  Surely  every  sympathetic  person  must 
approve  of  my  action  in  that  I  did  not  refuse  such  a 
rejouissance,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  accepted  it 
with  delight." 

With  the  inevitable  mixture  of  pathos  and  humor  he 
bids  farewell  to  the  world  :  "You  seem  to  be  grieved 
that  I  must  say  to  you,  Vale.  You  are  touched  with 
emotion,  my  dear  reader,  and  precious  pearls  fall  from 
your  little  tear-sacks.  But  be  comforted.  We  shall 
meet  again  in  a  better  world,  where  I  hope  to  write 
better  books  for  you.  *  *  *  And  now  farewell.  And 
if  I  owe  you  anything,  send  me  in  your  reckoning." 


36 


INTRO  DUCT  OR  V  SKE  TCH, 


From  the  number  of  jests  and  bon-mots  attributed  to 
Heine  during  his  last  illness,  we  cull  a  few  of  the  most 
striking. 

A  few  days  before  his  death,  Berlioz  called  on  him 
just  as  a  tiresome  German  professor  was  leaving  his 
room,  after  having  bored  Heine  with  his  dull  conver- 
sation, on  which  Heine  remarked  to  Berlioz,  *'I  am 
afraid  you  will  find  me  very  stupid,  my  dear  fellow. 
The  fact  is,  I  have  just  been  exchanging  thoughts  with 

Dr.  ."     On  being  asked  Avhy  for  so  many  years 

he  had  continually  made  a  certain  Massmann  the  butt 
of  his  ridicule,  he  replied,  "Believe  me,  I  am  an  old 
man.  I  can  no  longer  call  up  new  fools  at  pleasure, 
but  must  content  myself  with  living  on  the  old.  Mass- 
mann is  a  profitable  fool  for  me,  and  out  of  his  folly 
I  coin  my  revenue."  Again  he  says,  **I  would  have 
liked  to  die  in  Germany,  and  would  probably  have  had 
myself  transjjorted  there,  but  what  would  my  poor  wife 
do  in  Germany?  It  is  very  sad.  I  am  not  at  home 
here,  nor  would  she  be  in  Germany.*  I  know  that  I 
shall  never  arise  from  this  couch.  The  play  is  ended. 
I  am  just  at  the  age  when  a  German  author  ought  to 
die.  How  they  will  ])raise  me  when  they  hear  I  am 
dead  !  Instead  of  the  rotten  apples  with  which  they 
have  been  pelting  me  all  along,  they  will  throw  to  me 
nothing  but  bunches  of  flowers  and  wreaths  of  laurels. 
My  publisher  will  be  glad,  too,  when  he  hears  that 
I  have  exchanged  the  painful  grave  of  the  Rue  d'Am- 
sterdam  for  that  painless  one  in  the  church-yard  at 
Montmartre,  for  my  death  will  profit  him  finan- 
cially." 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL.  37 

He  read  medical  works  relating  to  his  disease,  and 
had  acquired  quite  an  extensive  knowledge  of  med- 
ical subjects.  He  was  accustomed  to  remark,  ironi- 
cally, ^'that  his  studies  would  not  be  of  much  avail 
to  him,  except  that,  perhaps,  when  he  was  translated 
to  the  celestial  regions,  he  might  deliver  lectures  on 
medicine,  and  explain  to  his  audience  how  little  earthly 
physicians  know  of  spinal  diseases." 

During  his  illness  he  wrote  "The  Gods  in  Exile," 
''The  Faust  Ballet,"  ''The  Goddess  Diana,"  "The 
Confessions,"  his  "Memoirs,"  and  those  wonderful 
poems  which  form  the  "Romancero." 

To  the  very  last  he  kept  his  mother  in  ignorance  of 
his  illness,  and,  althougli  racked  by  tortures,  all  his 
letters  to  her  were  written  in  a  merry,  cheerful  vein,  as 
if  naught  existed  to  mar  his  happiness.  He  explained 
that  he  had  a  slight  weakness  of  the  eyes,  and  that  this 
was  his  reason  for  employing  an  amanuensis.  Surely 
such  a  touching  trait  must  show  that  Heine  was  not  so 
bad  at  heart  as  he  has  been  represented. 

On  the  17th  of  February,  1856,  death  released  him 
from  his  sufferings.  By  his  own  desire,  he  was  buried 
in  the  Roman  Catholic  portion  of  the  cemetery  of 
Montmartre,  in  order  that  his  beloved  wife  might  lie 
by  his  side.  He  was  buried  early  in  the  morning. 
The  weather  was  cold,  damp,  and  foggy.  The  small- 
ness  of  the  attendance  at  his  funeral  would  seem  to 
show  that  there  was  some  truth  in  the  saying  that  he 
had  "many  admirers,  but  few  friends."  The  only 
persons  of  note  who  are  recorded  as  having  been 
present  are  Mignet,  Gautier,  and  Dumas.  The  at- 
4* 


38 


INTR  OD  UCTOR  V  SKE  TCH, 


tendance  consisted  chiefly  of  French  and  German 
journalists  and  literary  men. 

There  has  been  much  speculation,  and  even  angry 
dispute,  concerning  the  personal  character  of  Heine. 
According  to  Theophile  Gautier,  "  Never  was  nature 
composed  of  more  varied  elements.  He  was  at  once 
gay  and  sad,  skeptical  and  believing,  tender  and  cruel, 
sentimental  and  mocking,  classic  and  romantic,  Ger- 
man and  French,  delicate  and  cynical,  enthusiastic  and 
cold-blooded, — everything  but  tiresome." 

These  apparent  contradictions  in  Heine's  personal 
character  will  help  to  explain  the  surprises,  paradoxes, 
and  startling  anticlimaxes  with  which  his  writings 
abound,  and  which  have  been  such  a  sore  puzzle  to 
critics.  His  love  of  antithesis  is  one  of  the  marked 
features  of  his  style.  He  delights  in  stirring  the  mind 
of  the  reader  with  tragic  emotion,  deep  pathos,  beautiful 
and  elevated  thoughts,  simply  to  surprise  him  in  the 
concluding  line  with  some  terse  cynic  remark  or  quaint 
humorous  conceit  totally  out  of  harmony,  as  it  would 
seem  at  first  thought,  with  what  had  preceded."  '  Many 
critics  maintain  that  these  anticlimaxes  mar  some  of 
his  finest  poems,  and  that  they  give  the  impression  that 
Heine  is  mocking  both  himself  and  his  readers. 

For  the  understanding  of  these  apparent  inconsist- 
'encies,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  Heine  was  a  man  of 
a  most  contradictory  nature, —  of  two  natures,  so  to  say, 
combined  in  one.  His  whole  life  is  a  record  of  seem- 
ing contradictions.  His  fervid  fancy  and  wild  poetic 
enthusiasm  were  tempered  by  sound  practical  common 
sense.    He  has  compared  himself  to  Don  Quixote.    The 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND   CRITICAL. 


39 


very  fact  that  he  could  make  such  a  comparison  proves 
that  he  was  not  a  Don  Quixote.  True,  he  loved  to 
indulge  in  Utopian  aspirations  ;  but  none  better  than 
he  recognized  the  fact  that  many  of  the  theories  so 
eloquently  advocated  by  himself  and  other  writers  of 
his  school  were  impracticable  in  actual  life ;  and  when 
it  came  to  putting  these  theories  into  practice,  Heine 
was  among  the  first  to  expose  with  his  wit  and  sar- 
casm their  inherent  defects.  We  find  him  at  times 
an  ardent  democrat,  inveighing  bitterly  and  savagely 
against  kings  and  courts;  then  again  directing  his 
keen  ridicule  against  the  rising  democracy  and  social- 
ism of  France  and  Germany.  We  find  him  treating 
of  religious  subjects  with  an  irreverence  and  a  levity 
which,  to  the  orthodox  believer,  are  simply  shocking; 
then  again  we  find  in  his  writings  passages  which  reveal 
profound  religious  aspirations.  At  times  he  expresses 
the  most  lofty  views  regarding  life  and  duty;  then 
again  he  revels  in  a  description  of  sensual  pleasures. 
Therefore,  judged  from  the  objective  stand-point,  the 
charge  of  inconsistency  seems  well  grounded ;  but 
when  we  remember  that  Heine  was  essentially  a  man 
of  moods, — a  lyric  poet  giving  expression  to  the  emo- 
tions and  sentiments  of  the  passing  hour, — then  we 
shall  recognize  the  fact  that  Heine  was  probably  true 
to  himself,  and  expresses  what  were  his  real  thoughts 
at  the  time  being. 

His  poetry  has  been  compared  to  a  beautiful  rose 
beneath  which  lurks  the  stinging  thorn.  None  more 
than  Heine  appreciated  the  beauty  and  the  fragrance 
of  the  rose,   but  he  knew,  alas,  that  the  thorn  also 


^O  h\TRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

was  there.  His  habit  of  looking  at  the  two  sides  of 
everything, — the  bright  and  the  dark,  the  poetical 
and  the  prosaic,  the  strong  voice  and  the  weak  echo, 
the  contrast  between  noble,  exalted,  ideal  aspirations 
and  the  disheartening  shortcomings  in  actual  life, — it 
is  this  that  embitters  the  life  and  writings  of  Heine. 
The  motto  of  his  works  might  appropriately  be,  '^  Eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  ye  die."  The 
terrible  "Thou  shalt  surely  die,"  palls  every  pleasure. 

For  such  a  state  of  mind  there  is  nothing  but  the 
consolations  of  religion.  Heine,  with  his  poetic  tem- 
perament, keenly  felt  the  need  of  religious  belief.  It 
is  a  feeling  of  this  need,  and  nothing  but  this,  that 
induces  thousands,  whose  intellects  revolt  at  theologi- 
cal creeds,  to  cling  to  religion  as  does  a  drowning  man 
to  a  straw.  Heine  longed  to  believe,  but  could  not. 
Fortunate  is  he  who  has  never  experienced  this  feeling — 
but  he  cannot  understand  Heine.  He  lacked  faith,  and 
knew  it.  But  his  constant  references  to  religious  ques- 
tions are  evidence  of  a  deep  religious  nature;  they 
show  that  he  thought  much  on  those  subjects,  and  if 
his  course  was  an  erroneous  one,  it  was,  at  least,  better 
than  indifference.  Heine's  course  may  be  likened  to 
a  destructive  mountain-torrent,  but  indifference  is  a 
stagnant,  noxious  pool. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  to  one  not  familiar  with  the 
writings  of  Heine  an  adequate  conception  of  his  many- 
sidedness.  He  has  been  compared  to  Aristophanes, 
Rabelais,  Cervantes,  Voltaire,  Beranger,  Swift,  Lau- 
rence Sterne,  Byron,  Burns,  and  Jean  Paul.  This  alone 
will  give  an  idea  of  his  versatility.     The  resemblance 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  ^j 

to  Byron  was  pointed  out  early  in  Heine's  career.    The 
likeness  to  Burns  has  not  been  so  generally  noticed. 

The  method  of  comparison  is  the  most  efficient  yet 
devised  by  critics;  and  by  grouping  this  poetical  trio 
together  we  bring  into  clear  relief  certain  of  their 
points  of  resemblance  and  of  difference.  Burns,  By-  ^ 
ron,  and  Heine  are  the  most  eminent  modern  poets  of 
what  we  should  call  the  egotistic  or  subjective  school 
as  distinguished  from  the  objective.  These  three  are 
the  heroes,  the  central  figures,  of  their  own  writings  ; 
their  own  lives  and  individual  emotions  form  the  bur- 
den of  their  song. 

Burns,  from  his  early  associations  and  natural  tend- 
encies, was  the  poet  of  the  masses;  in  other  words, 
he  was  a  democrat.  This  is  evidenced  by  his  choice 
of  topics,  and  by  his  sympathy  with  common  folk,  by  ,Jl— 
his  wonderful  insight  into  the  natures  of  the  poorer 
and  uncultured  classes,  and  by  his  happy  treatment  of 
the  incidents  of  simple  commonplace  lives.  Byron, 
on  the  other  hand,  notwithstanding  his  eloquent  rant- 
ing in  favor  of  freedom  and  equality,  was  essentially 
an  aristocratic  poet.  He  studiously  avoids  the  com- 
monplace. In  this  respect  Heine  partakes  of  the 
nature  of  both  ;  and  notwithstanding  his  bitter  diatribes 
against  Philistinism,  he  was  yet  essentially  a  representa- 
tive of  the  middle  classes,  in  so  far  that  he  steered  a 
middle  course  between  the  extremes  of  radicalism  and 
conservatism.  His  poetic  and  Utopian  fancies  were 
generally  moderated  and  held  in  check  by  that  pru- 
dence and  practical  common  sense  which  is  usually 
considered  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  middle  classes. 


A 2  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

Byron's  Pegasus  always  gallops ;  in  sooth,  it  is  some- 
times a  runaway  steed.  Burns's  Pegasus  ambles  quietly 
along,  stopping  to  crop  the  fragrant  grasses  that  grow 
along  the  flower-decked  roadside.  But  Heine's  Pega- 
sus goes  through  all  the  paces ;  he  can  be  as  grand, 
romantic,  and  picturesque  as  Byron,  and  as  simple,  un- 
pretentious, and  quaintly  humorous  as  Burns.  Heine's 
sea-poems  are  as  majestic  as  Byron's  grand  apostrophes 
to  the  ocean,  and  yet  in  quite  a  different  way.  Byron's 
magic  pen  brings  before  our  mental  vision  nature  in 
its  grandest  and  most  awe-inspiring  aspects,  and  makes 
us  recognize  our  own  insignificance.  Heine  also  im- 
presses forcibly  upon  us  a  conception  of  the  immen- 
sity and  grandeur  of  nature,  but  then  the  concluding 
verse  or  line  is  always  sure,  by  some  droll  anticlimax, 
to  wipe  away  the  impression  of  awe.  After  portray- 
ing Neptune,  king  of  the  waters,  in  all  his  wrath  and 
majesty,  he  steps  up  to  him,  as  it  were,  and  familiarly 
places  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  with  a  "  hail  fellow 
well  met."  Byron  gives  us  the  impression  of  arti- 
ficiality ;  he  is  always  either  robed  in  picturesque  garb 
or  is  dressed  for  the  parlor.  Heine  saunters  by  with 
hands  in  pocket,  or  we  see  him  in  easy  gown  and 
slippers. 

The  chief  point  of  resemblance  between  Heine  and 
Burns  is  the  easy  and  natural  treatment  of  common- 
place persons  and  things,  investing  them  with  poetic 
grace  and  attractiveness,  yet  not  lifting  them  out  of  the 
realm  of  reality.  This  applies  particularly  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  picture  the  customs  and  religious 
belief  of  the  poor  and  lowly  classes  among  whom  they 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  43 

had  been  reared.  Burns  did  not  share  the  religious 
belief  of  the  Scottish  peasantry,  nor  Heine  that  of  the 
orthodox  Israelites  ;  but  with  what  true  poetic  insight 
and  touching  fidelity  have  both  Burns  and  Heine  de- 
scribed the  homely  piety  and  steadfast  religious  faith 
of  lowly  humanity!  What  Burns's  "Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night"  has  done  for  the  Scottish  peasantry,  that 
Heine  has  done  for  the  humble  and  down-trodden  of 
his  race,  in  the  ''  Princess  Sabbath."  In  this  beautiful 
poem  Heine  describes  the  Jews'  Friday  night,  their 
Sabbath  evening.  During  the  whole  week  the  poor 
Jew  has  lived  a  dog's  life,  maltreated  and  despised  by 
all,  subsisting  on  coarse  food  earned  by  the  severest  and 
most  degrading  toil.  But  when  Friday  night  comes 
he  lays  aside  the  menial  avocations  of  the  week,  the 
filth  and  the  dirt  of  his  work-day  life,  and  robes  him- 
self like  a  bridegroom  to  meet  his  bride.  Then  he 
lights  the  lamps  and  candles,  and  chants  the  "  Lecho 
Dodee,"  and  hails  the  Sabbath-day  of  rest  as  a  beautiful 
and  beloved  bride, — as  the  Princess  Sabbath. 

Heine's  literary  career  may  be  divided  into  three 
periods.  The  first  extends  from  his  boyhood  and  early 
manhood  to  his  removal  to  Paris  in  1831  ;  the  second 
extends  from  1831  to  1848;  the  third,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  his  last  illness  to  the  time  of  his  death  in 
1856.  The  fruits  of  the  first  period  of  his  literary 
activity  comprise  the  '' Reisebilder,"  '' Buch  der  Lie- 
der,"  ''Briefe  aus  Berlin,"  etc.  The  most  marked 
feature  of  the  productions  of  this  period  is  the  lyric 
and  subjective  character  of  the  matter  and  treatment. 
All  seems  to  be  the  spontaneous  expression  of  the  poet's 


44  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH^ 

nature.  All  is  written  without  any  particular  aim  or 
purpose,  just  as  the  bird  sings, — it  knows  not  why;  and 
just  as  the  bird's  song  pleases,  just  as  the  murmur  of 
the  mountain-stream,  the  rustling  of  the  wind  among 
the  trees,  make  melodious  music  to  the  ear,  just  as  a 
beautiful  landscape,  a  glowing  sunset,  give  pleasure  to 
the  eye, — so  does  the  poetry  of  Heine's  verse  and  prose 
charm  and  fascinate. 

But,  after  his  removal  to  Paris,  Heine  took  a  warm 
interest  in  the  social  and  political  questions  of  the  day, 
and  by  his  bold  and  impartial  criticism  of  the  contend- 
ing parties,  each  of  which  in  turn  felt  the  lash  of  his 
stinging  satire,  he  provoked  general  hostility,  and  was 
almost  incessantly  engaged  in  bitter  literary  warfares. 
He  became  a  politician,  a  journalist,  a  polemic,  an 
art-critic,  an  historian  ;  but  all  that  he  wrote  was  for 
a  purpose.  He  wrote  "for  or  against  something;  for 
or  against  an  idea\  for  or  against  a  party." 

The  writings  of  this  period  are  the  most  poetical 
prose  in  literature,  but  for  the  time  he  ceased  to  be 
chiefly  and  pre-eminently  a  lyric  poet.  For  lyric 
poetry,  such  as  we  find  in  Heine's  earlier  productions, 
this  busy,  bustling,  disputatious  life  was  uncongenial. 
Heine  felt  this,  and  in  his  preface  to  "The  Salon," 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  that  life,  he  bids  an  elo- 
quent "farewell  to  the  novels  and  comedies  which  I 
once  so  prettily  began,  but  which  will  now  scarcely 
soon  be  completed." 

Heine's  earlier  poetry  is  as  the  limpid  waters  of  a 
beautiful  river,  sliowing,  it  is  true,  signs  of  the  angry 
passions  and  strifes  of  men,  but  it  is  as  the  Rhine  shows 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL. 


45 


mirrored  in  its  bosom  the  ancient  warlike  castles.  But 
the  life  of  Paris  was  as  the  vast  and  ever-changing  sea, 
— now  and  then  tranquil  and  peaceful,  but  more  often 
agitated  and  stormy. 

In  Paris,  Heine  was  a  man  of  the  world,  taking  part 
in  all  its  battles  and  strifes.  But  the  time  was  to  come 
when,  bankrupt  in  health  and  in  purse,  he  was  to  quit 
the  gay  and  brilliant  life  of  Paris.  Although  dwelling 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  city,  yet,  shut  up  in  his  sick- 
room, he  no  longer  belonged  to  Paris  or  to  the  world. 
Here,  racked  by  pain,  his  chief  consolations  were  *'  his 
French  wife  and  his  German  muse."  Poetry  was  again 
his  solace,  and  the  beguiler  of  many  sleepless  nights. 

When,  twenty  years  before,  he  stood,  young  and 
hopeful,  at  the  threshold  of  that  gay  and  busy  Parisian 
life,  the  coy  lyric  muse,  affrighted  at  the  tumult  of  the 
noisy  city,  winged  her  flight  to  quieter  scenes.  But,  lb  ! 
after  many  years,  the  world-famous  author,  the  adored, 
the  supercilious,  the  reckless,  is  stricken  down  in  the 
midst  of  his  glory.  Paralysis  stretches  him  low.  On 
a  bed  of  pain  and  sickness  he  passes  the  weary  hours, 
longing,  praying  for  death  to  relieve  him  from  his  ter- 
rible agonies.  Death  comes  not ;  but  the  report  of 
the  sufferings  of  her  former  favorite  reaches  the  ears 
of  the  lyric  muse,  and,  lo  !  what  radiant  figure  stands 
beside  that  humble  bed?  what  gentle,  loving  form 
bends  over  the  pale,  thin  sleeper?  It  is  the  lyric 
muse, — Heinrich  Heine's  first  and  only  true  love. 
Sadly  and  pityingly  she  looks  down  upon  the  wasted 
and  prematurely  aged  features;  tenderly  she  caresses 
the  white  locks  once  so  auburn  ;  with  tear-dewed  eyes 

5 


46  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH, 

she  bends  over  the  sleeper  and  impresses  a  loving  kiss 
upon  his  brow.  The  expression  of  pain  disappears;  a 
smile,  such  as,  alas !  had  not  for  many  a  day  been  seen 
there,  plays  over  the  sleeper's  face.  The  walls  of  his 
humble  apartment  in  the  Rue  d' Amsterdam  expand, 
and  disclose  a  verdant  forest  of  German  oaks.  The 
nightingales  sing  sweetly;  he  hears  again  the  murmur 
of  his  dear  beloved  Rhine  ;  he  sees  the  romantic  castles 
silvered  in  the  moonlight;  he  hears  in  the  distance  the 
thunderous  rolling  of  old  ocean ;  the  scenes  of  home 
again  pass  before  the  dreamer's  vision ;  he  sees  his 
mother's  aged  form,  who  knows  not  that  her  son  lies 
ill  and  suffering;  sadness  mingles  in  his  smile;  he 
awakes,  and  writes-ytthe  Romancero. '  \ 

How  shall  we  describe  that  collection  of  wonderful 

poems?     *'It  is  the  last  free   forest-song  of  Roman- 

Viicism."     'And  when  tliat  sweet,  sad  song  ceases,  and 

^    Vhe  voice  of  the  singer  is  mute  in  death,  who  that  has 

felt  the  charm  of  Heine's  genius  will  refuse  a  kindly 

*'  Perturbed  spirit,  rest  in  peace"  ? 

Many  and  varied  were  his  faults  :  we  seek  not  to 
palliate  or  defend  them.  Richly  endowed  by  nature, 
he  did  not  always  use  his  gifts  wisely  or  well.  This 
perversion  of  his  talents  will  always  be  a.bJot  upon  his 
fame;  his  sin  brings  its  own  punishment.  Gifted  with 
the  most  wonderful  and  versatile  powers, — a  clear  insight 
into  men  and  things,  a  vivid  imagination  enabling  \\\\\\ 
to  fill  up  the  gaps  of  history  and  biography,  a  poetic 
power  and  fervor  that  could  clothe  even  the  most  hid- 
j  eons  objects  in  robes  of  beauty  and  tenderness,  a  wjt 
[       that   fur  sting  has  not   its  superior  in   any  literature, 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  ^j 

dramatic  and  descriptive  powers  of  the  very  highest 
order, — with  such  qualities  he  could  not  fail  to  acquire 
a  large  circle  of  readersj  And  yet,  although  read  with 
delight  by  so  many  thousands,  although  his  wit  and 
humor  evoke  laughter,  and  his  pathos  tears,  at  will,  he 
has  failed  to  win  a  place  in  the  world's  affection  or 
respect  like  Lessing  or  Schiller.  Nay,  men  of  inferior 
talent  rank  higher  in  this  regard. 

And  we  need  not  seek  far  for  the  reason  :  it  is  because 
Heine  lacks  moral  character.  No  amount  of  grace,  or 
talent,  or  genius  will  fill  its  place.  Men  require,  nay, 
long  for  noble  teachings,  for  lofty  and  elevating 
thoughts,  such  as  they  can  feel  are  not  cant,  but  the 
sincere  and  earnest  beliefs  of  truthful  minds.  We  in- 
stinctively feel  that  our  passions  and  the  multitudinous 
temptations  of  life  are  sufficient  to  drag  us  down.  In 
our  teachers  we  require  the  qualities  that  keep  up  the 
average.  We  need  no  instructors  to  lower  the  standard : 
the  frailties  of  human  nature  suffice  for  that.  In  their 
inmost  hearts  men  want  no  easy  religion  ;  and  hence 
fanaticism,  no  matter  how  severe  the  burden  it  lays  on 
the  flesh,  can  command  a  sincere,  unselfish  following, 
and  the  homage  and  respect  of  even  unbelievers. 
Hence  the  success  of  the  self-sacrificing,  self-denying 
element  of  Christianity.  With  all  his  acuteness  and 
wonderful  insight,  Heine  failed  to  recognize  this  phase 
of  Christianity.  It  succeeded,  not,  as  Heine  thought, 
because  it  offered  consolation  and  hope  of  future  bliss 
to  suffering  humanity,  but  because  it  said  to  debased, 
sensual  man,  Come  out  of  your  self-indulgence  and 
debauchery. 


48 


INTR  OD  UCTOR  V  SKE  TCH, 


Behind  a  lofty,  self-denying  doctrine  put  a  loving 
heart  and  a  noble  life,  and  you  have  the  founder  of 
a  successful  religion.  No  religion  that  appeals  to  the 
sensual  and  animal  side  of  human  nature  can  strike  deep 
root ;  it  may  have  many  followers,  but  it  will  have  few 
real  believers,  and  sooner  or  later  men  tire  of  playing  the 
hypocrite.  Hence  the  doctrine  of  the  enfranchisement 
of  the  flesh,  which  was  one  of  the  cardinal  points  in  the 
new  religion  preached  so  eloquently,  and  with  full  sin- 
cerity, by  Heine  and  the  Young  Germany  school,  could 
never  have  been  more  than  temporarily  successful. 

The  licentiousness  of  his  writings  is  the  chief  reason 
why  Heine  docs  not  hold  the  high  rank  in  literature 
to  which  his  genius  entitles  him.  In  his  Confessions 
Heine  says,  *'  Women  should  be  trained  to  a  religious 
belief.  Hence,  freethinker  as  I  was,"  he  goes  on  to 
say,  "I  never  permitted  irreligious  or  licentious  con- 
versation in  the  presence  of  my  wife."  In  these  words 
Heine  has  spoken  his  own  condemnation.  His  wit 
and  genius  will  always  make  him  a  welcome  guest  at 
the  social  board,  but  he  will  never  be  received  as  a 
trusty  family  friend  into  the  sanctuary  of  heart  and 
home. 

And  yet,  with  all  his  faults,  we  cannot  afford  to  miss 
him  from  literature.  While  we  have  dwelt  at  some 
length  on  the  subject  of  the  vital  defect  of  his  works, 
— ''the  worm  i'  the  bud," — it  would  be  doing  Heine 
gross  injustice  not  to  mention  the  manifold  merits  of 
his  writings,  which,  apart  from  their  beauty  of  style  and 
fancy,  entitle  him  to  the  praise  of  all  liberal  and  cul- 
tured minds.     He,  more  than  any  of  the  other  writers 


BIOGRAPHICAL   AND    CRITICAL.  ^g 

of  that  period,  awoke  the  youth  of  Germany  and 
France  to  the  dangers  and  ultramontane  tendencies  of 
the  reactionary  Romanticist  school.  He,  more  than 
all  otlTers,  helped  to  overcome  the  baleful  influence  of 
Goethe's  example,  and  to  shame  the  artists  and  poets 
of  that  era  from  isolated  art-lives  and  dreamy  rhapso- 
dies over  the  ancient  rlas^ir^^  ii-ifo  fnking  p-'^r''  i^  the  I 
social  and  politTcar  agitations  of  their  own  times.  ItJ 
was  Heine  who  first  had  the  moraF  courage^o  tell  the 
truth  concerniiig  German  philosophy  and  its  tenden- 
cies, and  to  lay  bare  to  criticism  and  light  The  secrets 
which  the  philosophers  studiously  draped  in  scholastic 
formulas  and  in  an  ambiguous  coterie  dialect^  It^was 
Heine  who  first  showed  that  art  and  music  criticisms 
might  be  made  without  using  abstruse  technical  phrases, 
and  by  his  keen  ridicule  taught  a  wholesome  lesson  to 
the  critics  whose  explanations  were  less  intelligible 
than  that  which  they  sought  to  explain.  It  was  Heine 
who  most  loftily  preached  the  doctrine  of  cosmopoli- 
tanism, and  who  contributed  so  much  to  bring  the 
Germans  and  the  French  to  a  better  understanding 
and  appreciation  of  each  other.  Other  conspicuous 
merits  of  Heine's  writings  are  clearness  of  expression 
and  absence  of  mysticism,  a  wonderful  insight  with 
regard  to  events  of  the  past  and  of  the  future,  beauti- 
ful poetic  fancies,  apt  and  beautiful  imagery.  No  poet 
is  more  happy  than  he  in  the  choice  of  similes;  and 
this  is  one  of  the  first  requisites  of  a  popular  writer. 
The  human  mind  demands  both  abstract  and  concrete 
teachings,  and  that  teaching  is  the  most  successful 
which  unites  both.     Hence  the  popular  love,   in  all 


to  INTRODUCTORY  SKETCH. 

ages,  for  poetry,  the  high  office  of  which  is  to  typify 
exalted,  elevating  abstract  thoughts  in  striking,  pleas- 
ing concrete  images.  All  the  great  thinkers  who  have 
had  direct  influence  on  the  masses  have  had  the  power 
of  clothing  their  thoughts  in  appropriate  imagery,  so 
as  to  bring  them  first  to  the  physical  eye  of  men,  as  it 
were,  and  through  that  fix  them  more  steadfastly  on 
the  mind's  eye.  The  vast  influence  which  the  Bible 
has  for  so  many  centuries  exerted  on  the  public  mind 
is,  to  a  great  extent,  the  result  of  its  intermingling  and 
interfusion  of  lofty  moral  teachings  with  pleasing  para- 
bles and  symbols.  \ 
But  why  enumerate  all  Heine's  claims  to  our  admira-  ^  ' 
tion  and  gratitude  ?  ''A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for- 
ever;" and  Heinrich  Heine,  who  has  given  the  world 
so  many  beautiful  thoughts,  is  entitled  to  ask  that  we 

"  Be  to  his  virtues  very  kind, 
And  to  his  faults  a  httle  bhnd." 

In  sooth,  while  often  his  deeds  were  inferior  to  his 
words,  yet  not  seldom  he  practiced  better  than  he 
preached.  In  judging  him,  we  must  remember  that 
the  time  and  the  circle  into  which  he  was  thrown  were 
not  a  little  to  blame  for  the  bent  of  his  writings.  We 
must  make  allowance  for  the  frailty  of  human  nature, 
and  for  the  temptations  which  surround  a  young  poet, 
whose  brain  may  be  easily  dazzled  and  turned  by 
sudden  fame  and  success. 


PROSE    MISCELLANIES, 


FROM   THE   PREFACE   TO   "THE    SALON." 

*  *  *  The  sham  pietists  of  all  denominations 
will  heave  many  a  piteous  sigh  over  some  of 
the  poems  of  this  volume,  but  nothing  can  more 
avail  them.  A  new  "  rising  generation"  has  com- 
prehended that  all  my  words  and  songs  have 
blossomed  into  life  from  a  great,  God-pleasing, 
vernal  thought,  which,  if  not  better,  is  at  least  as 
respectable  as  that  sombre,  mouldy,  Ash-Wednes- 
day notion  that  has  robbed  our  beautiful  Europe 
of  its  bloom  and  peopled  it  with  spectres  and 
Tartuffes. 

*  *  *  People  believe  that  our  doing  and  striving 
is  mere  idle  caprice;  that  out  of  the  store-house 
of  new  ideas  we  select  one  for  which  to  speak  and 
do,  strive  and  suffer,  somewhat  as  our  linguists 
formerly  selected  each  his  classic,  to  the  com- 
mentary of  which  he  devoted  his  whole  life.  No; 
we  do  not  lay  hold  of  the  idea,  but  the  idea  lays 
hold  of  us,  and  enslaves  us,  and  lashes  us  into  the 

51 


52 


FROM  THE  PREFACE   TO 


arena,  that  we,  like  captive  gladiators,  may  battle 
for  it.  We  are  not  the  masters,  but  the  slaves,  of 
the  word. 

*  *  *  It  was  not  an  idle  whim  of  my  heart 
that  I  forsook  all  that  was  near  and  dear  to  me  in 
Germany, — for  a  few  did  love  me,  among  them 
my  mother, — but  I  went,  not  knowing  why.  I 
went  because  I  must. 

But  after  a  while  I  grew  weary  and  low-spirited. 
Long  before  the  revolution  of  July  I  had  played 
the  role  of  prophet,  until  the  internal  flame  had 
almost  consumed  me,  and  my  heart  was  faint  with 
the  burden  of  its  own  mighty  words. 

And  I  thought,  I  am  no  longer  needed,  and 
now  I  will  live  for  myself,  and  write  beautiful 
poems,  and  will  weave  into  comedies  and  novels 
the  pretty  conceits  and  fantasies  that  have  gath- 
ered in  my  brain ;  and  I  will  quietly  steal  back 
into  the  fairy-land  of  poesy,  where  I  spent  my 
happy  boyhood  days. 

I  could  not  have  selected  a  more  suitable  place 
for  carrying  this  resolution  into  effect.  It  was  in 
a  small  village  of  Normandy,  situated  on  the  sea- 
coast  near  Havre-de-Grace.  Wondrously  lovely 
was  the  spectacle  of  the  mighty  North  Sea :  ever 
changing  and  yet  ever  simple  was  its  aspect, — 
to-day  tempest-tossed,  to-morrow  tranquil  and 
peaceful.  Overhead  floated  the  white  clouds, 
weird  and  giant-like,  as  if  they  were  the  ghosts 


THE  SALON. 


53 


of  those  ancient  Normans  who   on  these  waters 
had  lived  their  wild  and  turbulent  life. 

*  *  *  My  surroundings  were  propitious.  The 
peaceful  genius  of  poetry  again  began  to  hover 
over  me ;  the  noble,  famihar  forms  and  golden 
pictures  of  long  ago  began  again  to  dawn  upon 
me ;  the  olden  magic,  with  its  dreamy  blissful- 
ness,  its  fairy-like  charm,  began  to  work  in  me,' 
and  I  needed  but  quietly  to  write  down  what  I 
felt  and  thought. 

*  *  *  But  one  day,  on  the  road  near  Havre, 
I  suddenly  came  upon  a  passing  train  of  country 
wagons,  loaded  with  all  sorts  of  common  trunks 
and  boxes,  old-fashioned  furniture,  women  and 
children.  The  men  walked  alongside,  and  great 
was  my  astonishment  to  hear  them  speak  German. 
I  at  once  comprehended  that  they  were  emigrants, 
and,  as  I  observed  them  more  closely,  I  felt  a 
sudden  pang;  for  it  was  my  fatherland  itself  that 
thus  confronted  me.  On  those  wagons  sat  blond 
Germany,  with  its  earnest  blue  eyes,  its  trustful, 
too  serious  face.  In  former  times  I  had  often  ridi- 
culed and  satirized  the  follies  and  philistinism  of 
my  countrymen;  but  now,  when  I  beheld  them  in 
a  foreign  land,  poverty-stricken  and  in  misery,  I 
was  touched  by  compassion,  and  I  shook  hands 
with  those  German  emigrants,  as  if  in  that  hand- 
clasp I  made  a  new  covenant  of  love  with  the 
fatherland  itself;  and  we  conversed  in  our  native 


54 


FROM  THE  PREFACE   TO 


German  tongue.  They,  too,  were  pleased  to  hear 
the  famih'ar  sounds  in  a  foreign  land  ;  the  shadow  of 
care  disappeared  from  their  features,  and  they  almost 
smiled.  The  women,  among  them  some  that  were 
quite  pretty,  called  out  a  kindly  "God  be  with 
you!"  the  young  lads,  with  bashful  politeness,  gave 
their  greetings;  and  even  the  little  toothless  babes 
joined  in  the  chorus.  "  And  why  have  you  left 
Germany  ?"  I  asked.  "  The  land  was  goodly,  and 
we  would  gladly  have  stayed,"  they  said  ;  "  but  the 
oppressions  of  the  rulers  were  too  burdensome  to 
be  lon":er  borne."  And  the  conclusion  of  their 
recital  was  always,  "  What  else  could  we  do  than 
emigrate  ?     Should  we  begin  a  revolution  ?" 

A  tenth  part  of  what  these  people  had  borne  in 
Germany  would,  in  France,  have  caused  thirty-six 
revolutions,  and  would  have  cost  thirty-six  kings 
their  crowns,  together  with  their  heads. 

*  *  *  The  French  cannot  understand  why  the 
Germans  leave  their  fatherland ;  for  when  the 
French  find  the  extortions  of  their  rulers  unendur- 
able, perhaps  only  burdensome,  they  never  think 
of  quitting  the  country,  but  they  present  their  op- 
pressors with  their  passports  and  chase  them  out 
of  the  country,  while  they  remain  comfortably  at 
home.     In  a  word,  they  begin  a  revolution. 

*  *  *  Patriotism  is  a  very  peculiar  sentiment. 
One  may  love  his  country  and  grow  to  four- 
score without   having   been    aware  of  that  love; 


THE  SALON. 


55 


but  then  we  must  have  remained  at  home.  Spring 
is  appreciated  only  in  winter,  and  by  the  fireside 
are  written  the  best  May  songs.  The  love  of  lib- 
erty is  a  flower  of  dungeon  growth,  and  in  cap- 
tivity we  first  truly  learn  the  blessings  of  freedom. 
Thus  a  German's  patriotism  begins  only  when  he 
is  across  the  German  frontier,  and  particularly  at 
the  sight  of  Germans  in  distress  in  a  foreign  land. 

*  *  *  Far  into  the  depths  of  the  night  I  stood 
by  the  ocean  and  wept.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  those 
tears.  Achilles,  too,  wept  by  the  ocean  strand  until 
his  silver-footed  mother  arose  from  the  waves  to 
comfort  him.  I,  too,  heard  a  voice  from  among 
the  waters,  but  less  consoling :  on  the  contrary,  it 
was  startling,  imperious,  and  yet  profoundly  wise. 
P'or  the  ocean  knows  everything :  at  night  the 
stars  confide  to  it  the  most  hidden  secrets  of  the 
firmament ;  in  its  depths,  among  the  fabulous  long- 
drowned  empires,  lie  also  the  ancient  long-for- 
gotten lores  of  the  earth  ;  at  every  coast  it  listens 
with  a  thousand  billowy  eavesdropping  ears ;  and 
the  rivers  that  flow  into  it  bring  to  it  tidings  gath- 
ered in  the  most  distant  inland  countries,  even  the 
babble  of  the  brooks  and  mountain-springs,  which 
they  have  overheard. 

But  when  the  ocean  has  revealed  to  you  its 
secrets,  and  has  whispered  into  your  heart  the 
mighty  world-emancipating  word,  then  farewell 
repose  !  farewell  peaceful  dreams  ! 


THE  SALON. 

THE   EXHIBITION   OF   PAINTINGS   IN   PARIS,  1831. 

There  they  stood,  side  by  side,  in  the  picture- 
gallery  of  the  Louvre,  about  three  thousand  in 
number,  the  beautiful  pictures,  the  poor  children 
of  art,  on  whom  the  multitude,  busied  with  anxious 
political  and  social  cares,  bestowed  merely  the  alms 
of  hasty  and  indifferent  glances.  With  silent  sor- 
row they  pleaded  for  a  little  sympathy,  and  for  a 
nook  in  some  small  corner  of  the  heart.  But  in 
vain :  each  heart  was  filled  with  a  brooding  family 
of  its  own  thoughts,  and  had  neither  room  nor 
nourishment  for  these  strangers.  But  that  was 
just  what  appealed  so  strongly  to  our  sympathy. 
The  exposition  of  pictures  resembled  a  foundling- 
asylum,  a  collection  of  stray  children,  deserted 
and  thrown  upon  themselves,  and  none  akin  to 
the  others.  It  touched  our  soul  like  the  sight  of 
youthful  helplessness  and  unmerited  misery. 

*  *  *  But  how  different  was  the  emotion  that 
seized  me  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  gallery  of 
Italian  paintings!  These  were  not  thrust  out  into 
56 


THE   SALON. 


57 


the  cold  world,  like  foundlings,  but  had  been  fos- 
tered at  the  breast  of  one  great,  common  mother, 
and  now,  like  one  great  family,  spoke  peacefully 
and  harmoniously,  if  not  the  same  words,  at  least 
the  same  language. 

*  *  *  The  Catholic  Church,  which  had  once 
been  such  a  mother  to  all  the  arts,  is  herself  now 
poor  and  helpless.  Now  every  painter  paints  each 
for  himself:  the  fashion  of  the  day,  the  caprices 
of  the  wealthy,  his  own  whim  and  pleasure,  sug- 
gest the  subject,  the  palette  furnishes  the  most 
gaudy  colors,  and  the  canvas  is  patient.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  the  much-misunderstood  Romanticism 
is  the  rage,  according  to  whose  fundamental  prin- 
ciple each  strives  to  paint  totally  different  from  the 
rest,  or,  as  it  is  called  in  the  current  phrase  of  the 
day,  "  each  gives  vent  to  his  individuality."  What 
pictures  this  style  occasionally  brings  to  light  may 
be  easily  surmised. 

*•  *  *  As  the  French  certainly  possess  sound 
judgment  in  matters  of  art,  they  have  always  been 
quick  to  recognize  that  which  has  the  merit  of 
true  originality,  as  well  as  correct  in  detecting  and 
criticising  defects.  Out  of  the  vast  and  varied 
sea  of  pictures  they  could,  therefore,  with  ease 
select  the  genuine  pearls.  The  painters  whose 
works  were  chiefly  discussed  and  most  extolled 
were :  A.  Scheffer,  H.  Vernet,  Delacroix,  Decamps, 
Lessore,  Schnetz,  Delarouche,  and  Robert.     As  a 

6 


58 


THE   SALON. 


conscientious  art  critic  and  correspondent,  I  shall 
first  notice  the  pictures  of 

A.    SCHEFFER. 

The  Faust  and  Gretchen  of  this  painter  have 
attracted  general  attention.  One  who  has  never 
seen  any  o{  Scheffer's  paintings  will  at  once  be 
struck  by  his  style,  especially  by  the  peculiarity 
of  his  coloring.  His  enemies  say  that  he  paints 
entirely  with  snuff  and  green  soap.  In  how  far 
they  wrong  him,  I  am  unable  to  say.  His  dark 
colors  are  often  an  affectation,  intended  to  produce 
an  effect  after  the  manner  of  Rembrandt,  in  which, 
however,  they  fail.  His  faces  have  generally  that 
dismal  hue  which  sometimes  makes  our  visages 
hateful  to  ourselves  when,  after  a  sleepless  and  un- 
comfortable night,  we  happen  to  see  our  reflection 
in  one  of  those  green  glass  mirrors  which  are  still 
to  be  found  in  old  inns.  But  the  longer  and  more 
closely  we  study  Scheffer's  pictures,  the  more  do 
they  win  on  us.  We  find  that  his  treatment  of  his 
subject  as  a  whole  is  very  poetical,  and  we  realize 
that  a  genial  temperament  gleams  through  those 
sombre  shades,  like  the  sun  shining  through  the 
clouds. 

This  gloomy  coloring,  these  vague,  weird  out- 
lines, produce  an  excellent  effect  in  the  pictures 
of  Faust  and  Gretchen.  Faust  is  seated  on  an 
antiquated  red  chair,  such  as  were  in   use  during 


THE   SALON. 


59 


the  Middle  Ages ;  by  his  side  stands  a  table  covered 
with  parchment;  his  left  arm  rests  on  the  table, 
and  his  hand  supports  his  uncovered  head.  His 
right  hand,  with  the  open  palm  outwards,  rests 
on  his  hip.  His  garments  are  of  a  dark  greenish- 
blue  color.  The  face  is  given  in  profile,  and  is  of 
a  pale  and  sallow  complexion;  the  features  are 
regular  and  noble.  Notwithstanding  the  sickly, 
disagreeable  color,  the  hollow  cheeks,  the  thin  lips, 
the  unmistakable  signs  of  debility  and  decay,  this 
face  still  shows  traces  of  its  former  beauty,  and 
when  the  sad,  sweet  glances  of  the  eyes  light  up 
the  countenance,  it  looks  like  a  lovely  ruin  illu- 
mined by  the  moonlight. 

Verily,  this  man  is  a  beautiful  human  ruin.  Be- 
neath the  wrinkled  eyelids  brood  strange  fancies, 
learned  and  owl-like  thoughts;  and  beneath  that 
brow  lurk  evil  spirits.  At  midnight  tlie  graves 
open,  and  pale  spectres,  the  ghosts  of  dead  pas- 
sions, stalk  forth,  and  through  the  desolate  cham- 
bers of  his  brain,  with  silent  tread,  steals  the  image 
of  Gretchen. 

The  painter's  great  merit  consists  just  in  this, 
that  he  has  painted  a  face  the  mere  sight  of  which 
reveals  the  thoughts  and  emotions  that  haunt  the 
owner's  heart  and  brain.  In  the  background, 
scarcely  visible,  we  recognize  the  hideous  features 
of  Mephistopheles,  the  evil  one,  the  father  of  lies. 

Gretchen  is  a  companion-piece  of  no  less  merit. 


5o  THE   SALON. 

She  too  is  seated  on  a  red  chair,  less  glaring  in 
color,  however ;  by  her  side  stands  the  spinning- 
wheel,  the  distaff  full  of  wool ;  in  her  hand  she 
holds  a  prayer-book,  the  open  page  revealing  a 
small,  faded,  motley-colored  picture  of  the  Ma- 
donna. But  Gretchen  casts  no  glance  into  the 
book.  She  sits  with  bowed  head,  in  such  a  posi- 
tion that  almost  the  w^hole  side  of  her  face,  which 
is  also  shown  in  profile,  is  most  strangely  shaded. 
It  is  as  if  Faust's  dark  soul  were  casting  its  shadow 
over  the  face  of  the  quiet  maiden.  The  two  pic- 
tures were  placed  side  by  side,  which  made  it  the 
more  noticeable  that  all  the  effects  of  light  and 
shade  were  arranged  around  Faust's  face,  but  in 
the  picture  of  Gretchen  it  was  the  figure  and  not 
the  face  which  was  brought  into  relief  Through 
this  Gretchen's  form  is  endowed  with  an  inde- 
scribable charm.  She  wears  a  gown  of  dark  green, 
and  on  her  head  is  a  dainty  black  cap,  from  which 
escapes  her  flaxen  hair,  its  golden  beauty  enhanced 
by  the  contrast.  Her  face  is  oval-shaped,  and  has 
a  sweet  and  noble  expression, — a  loveliness  which 
modestly  shrinks  from  our  gaze.  For,  with  tliose 
dear  blue  eyes  of  hers,  she  is  modesty  personified. 
A  tear-drop — grief's  dumb  pearl — trembles  on  that 
lovely  cheek.  It  is  Wolfgang  Goethe's  Gretchen, 
but  she  has  read  all  of  Frederick  Schiller.  She  is 
more  sentimental  than  naive,  more  sad  and  ideal- 
istic than  merry  and  charming.     It  may  be  that 


THE   SALON.  6 1 

she  is  too  earnest  and  true-hearted  to  be  charming 
and  graceful,  for  gracefulness  consists  in  sprightli- 
ness  and  vivacity. 

Withal,  there  is  something  about  her  so  reliable, 
so  trust-inspiring,  as  suggestive  of  genuineness  as 
the  substantial  touch  of  a  louis-d'or.  In  short, 
she  is  a  true  German  maiden ;  and  when  we  look 
into  her  dreamy,  violet-blue  eyes,  our  thoughts 
fly  back  to  Germany,  to  the  fragrant  linden-trees ; 
we  hear  the  faint  re-echo  of  German  ballads  in  our 
hearts,  German  scenes  and  landscapes  flit  before 
our  eyes ;  we  think  of  Holty's  poems ;  of  the 
stone  ima^je  of  Roland  standino:  in  front  of  the 
old  town-hall ;  of  the  old  parson  and  his  rosy- 
cheeked  niece;  of  the  forester's  hut,  with  its  ant- 
lered  walls  ;  of  bad  tobacco  and  good  fellows  ;  of 
grandmothers'  ghost-stories  ;  of  the  faithful  night- 
watchmen  ;  of  friendship,  of  love,  and  all  sorts  of 
pleasant  nonsense.  Truly,  Scheffer's  Gretchen 
cannot  be  described.  We  do  not  see  Gretchen's 
face  merely,  but  her  whole  inner  nature.  Scheffer 
has  succeeded  in  painting  a  soul.  Whenever  I 
passed  the  picture  of  Gretchen  I  involuntarily 
addressed  her  with  some  loving  phrase. 

*  *  *  Scheffer's  Lenore  is  far  more  success- 
ful, as  regards  the  coloring,  than  any  other  of  his 
pictures.  He  has  transposed  the  date  of  the  story 
to  the  period  of  the  Crusades,  by  which  he  gains 
an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  more  picturesque 
6* 


62  THE  SALON. 

costumes,  and  for  more  romantic  coloring  in  gen- 
eral. The  returning  host  marches  by,  and  poor 
Lenore  misses  her  lover  from  among  them.  A 
subdued  melancholy  breathes  from  this  picture. 
Naught  gives  a  foreboding  of  the  ghostly  horrors 
of  the  coming  night.  But  just  because  the  painter 
has  laid  the  scene  during  the  Crusades,  that  era  of 
profound  religious  relief,  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  forlorn  Lenore  will  blaspheme  against  the  Al- 
mighty, nor  will  her  dead  lover  carry  her  off  on  a 
ghostly  ride.  Burger's  Lenore  lived  in  a  Protest- 
ant, skeptical  era,  and  her  lover  took  part  in  the 
Seven  Years'  War  and  helped  to  conquer  Silesia 
for  the  friend  of  Voltaire.  But  Scheffer's  Lenore 
lived  in  an  age  of  faith  and  Catholicism,  when 
hundreds  of  thousands,  inspired  by  religious  zeal, 
sewed  a  scarlet  cross  on  their  coats,  and,  as  martial 
pilgrims,  marched  to  the  land  of  the  rising  sun, 
there  to  seek  a  grave.  What  a  strange  age  it  was! 
But  are  not  all  human  beings  such  crusading 
knights,  who,  after  all  their  arduous  battles,  win 
only  a  grave  ?  Such  is  the  thought  that  I  read  in 
the  noble  face  of  that  knight  who,  from  his  stately 
steed,  looks  down  so  pityingly  on  sorrowing  Le- 
nore, who  rests  her  head  on  her  mother's  shoulder. 
She  is  a  gentle  flower,  that  will  grieve  and  wilt,  but 
not  blaspheme.  Scheffer's  picture  is  a  beautiful 
musical  composition ;  the  colors  ring  out  with  a  sub- 
dued but  sweet  merriment,  like  a  sad  spring  song. 


THE   SALON. 


63 


Scheffer's  other  pictures  were  of  inferior  merit, 
notwithstanding-  which  they  were  highly  praised, 
while  many  better  works,  by  less  distinguished  ^ 
artists,  were  passed  by  unnoticed.  Such  is  the 
power  of  an  established  reputation.  If  a  prince 
wears  a  ring  set  with  Bohemian  glass,  it  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  diamond ;  but  if  a  beggar  should 
wear  a  genuine  diamond,  it  would  be  condemned 
as  a  worthless  crystal. 

This  observation  leads  me  to 

HORACE    VERNET, 

whose  contributions  to  this  year's  Salon  do  also 
not  wholly  consist  of  genuine  gems.  The  best  of 
his  pictures  was  a  Judith,  just  as  she  is  about  to 
slay  Holofernes.  She  has  just  arisen  from  the 
couch,  a  slender,  blooming  maiden.  A  violet-hued 
garment,  hastily  girded  around  the  waist,  falls  in 
graceful  folds  to  the  feet;  an  under-garmcnt  of  a 
pale-yellow  shade  covers  the  upper  part  of  the 
body,  all  but  the  bare  right  shoulder,  from  which 
the  sleeve  falls  loosely.  With  her  left  hand,  in  a 
somewhat  blood-thirsty  manner,  yet  nevertheless 
with  a  certain  charming  gracefulness,  she  tucks 
up  the  drooping  sleeve ;  for  in  her  right  hand  she 
has  just  raised  the  curved  sabre  over  the  sleeping 
Holofernes.  There  stands  the  graceful  figure,  pure 
and  chaste,  yet  with  a  stain  upon  her, — like  a  dese- 
crated host.   Her  head  is  marvelously  beautiful,  and 


64 


THE   SALON. 


there  is  a  strange,  mysterious  fascination  about 
her,  and  in  the  face  of  the  murderous  beauty  con- 
flicting emotions  are  visible.  Her  eyes  sparkle 
with  the  fierce  delight  of  vengeance,  for  she  is 
about  to  avenge  her  own  insulted  honor  on  the 
hated  heathen.  The  latter,  it  must  be  confessed, 
is  not  very  attractive  in  his  personal  appearance, 
but  nevertheless  he  seems  to  be  a  bon  enfant  at 
heart.  He  appears  to  be  enjoying  a  sound  and 
blissful  sleep  :  perhaps  he  even  snores,  or,  as  Louise 
calls  it,  sleeps  audibly.  His  lips  move  as  if  kiss- 
ing: perhaps  he  is  dreaming  of  his  bliss;  and 
now,  drunk  with  wine  and  pleasure,  without  an 
interlude  of  pain  and  sickness,  Death,  through 
her  loveliest  angel,  summons  him  into  the  white 
night  of  eternal  annihilation.  What  an  enviable 
ending !  Ye  gods,  when  my  time  comes  to  die,  let 
me  die  like  Holofcrnes! 

Is  it  irony  on  the  part  of  Horace  Vernet  that 
the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  fall  on  the  sleeper, 
beautifying  and  transfiguring  him,  and  that  at 
the  same  moment  the  light  of  the  night-lamp 
is  quenched  ?  , 

Another  picture  of  Vernet,  representing  the 
present  pope,  is  noteworthy  more  for  the  free 
bold  style  of  its  drawing  and  coloring  than  for 
any  merit  of  conception.  With  the  golden  triple- 
crown  upon  his  head,  robed  in  a  white  garment 
embroidered  with  gold,  sitting  on  a  golden  throne, 


THE   SALON. 


65 


he  is  borne  in  triumph  into  the  Church  of  St.  Peter. 
The  pope,  although  ruddy-cheeked,  is  made  to 
look  pale  and  sickly  by  the  background  of  white 
vapors  rising  from  the  burning  censers,  and  the 
white  feathery  fans  that  are  held  over  him.  The 
bearers  of  the  papal  throne  are  stalwart  fellows  in 
crimson-colored  liveries,  their  black  hair  falling 
down  over  their  brown  faces.  Only  three  of  them 
are  visible  in  the  picture,  but  they  are  excellently 
painted.  The  same  praise  is  due  to  the  Capuchin 
monks,  whose  bowed  heads  and  broad  tonsures 
are  prominent  in  the  foreground.  But  just  this 
unimpressiveness  of  the  chief  personage,  and  the 
undue  conspicuousness  of  the  others,  is  a  mistake. 
The  ease  and  lightness  with  which  the  subordinate 
figures  are  drawn,  as  well  as  the  coloring,  reminded 
me  of  Paul  Veronese.  But  there  was  lacking  the 
Venetian  magic,  that  poetry  of  colors  which,  like 
the  shimmering  glimpses  of  the  lagunes  of  Venice, 
is  only  superficial,  but  yet  exercises  such  a  won- 
drous power  over  the  soul. 

A  third  painting  of  Horace  Vernet  received 
much  praise  for  its  bold  grouping  and  coloring. 
It  represents  the  arrest  of  the  princes  Conde, 
Conti,  and  Longueville.  The  scene  is  laid  on  the 
stairway  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and  the  noble  pris- 
oners ^re  just  in  the  act  of  descending  the  steps, 
after  having  surrendered  their  swords  at  command 
of  Anne  of  Austria.     By  the  varying  heights  of 


66  THE   SALOjV. 

the  stairs,  almost  every  figure  is  presented  with 
distinctness.  Conde  is  standing  on  the  lowest 
step  :  he  toys  with  his  mustache,  as  if  absorbed 
in  reflection  ;  and  I  know  his  thought.  From  the 
top  of  the  stairs  an  officer  is  descending,  carrying 
under  his  arm  the  swords  which  he  has  just  re- 
ceived from  the  princes.  The  picture  consists  of 
three  groups,  which  have  arisen  naturally  and 
naturally  belong  together.  Only  one  who  has 
attained  to  high  rank  in  art  is  capable  of  con- 
ceiving such  an  idea. 

*  *  *  Among  the  minor  pictures  of  Horace 
Vernct  is  one  of  Camille  Desmoulins  mounting 
a  bench  in  the  garden  of  the  Palais  RoyaJ  and 
haranguing  the  populace.  He  is  in  the  act  of 
tearing  with  his  left  hand  a  green  leaf  from  a  tree; 
in  his  right  hand  he  grasps  a  pistol.  Poor  Ca- 
mille !  thy  courage  was  not  higher  than  that  bench, 
and  there  thou  didst  purpose  to  take  thy  stand  and 
look  around  thee.  But  "  forward !  always  forward !" 
is  the  magic  word  that  only  can  sustain  revolu- 
tionary spirits :  if  they  falter  and  look  back,  they 
are  lost,  like  Eurydice,  who,  following  the  tones  of 
her  husband's  lyre,  once  only  looked  back  at  the 
horrors  of  Hades.  Poor  Camille!  poor  lad  !  those 
were  the  merry  days  of  freedom's  thoughtless 
youth,  when  thou  didst  throw  stones  at  despotism's 
glass  house,  and  didst  crack  rude  jokes;  but  the 
frolic  ended  drearily, — the  original  leaders  of  the 


THE   SALON. 


67 


Revolution  became  moss-covered  fossils,  who  stood 
aghast  at  their  own  work.  Then  didst  thou  hear 
behind  thee  and  on  every  side  terrible  tones,  and 
out  of  the  realm  of  shadows  the  ghostly  voices  of 
the  Gironde  did  call  unto  thee,  and  thou  didst 
look  back. 

I  shall  pass  the  other  minor  pictures  of  Horace 
Vernet,  the  versatile  artist  who  paints  everything, 
— altar-pieces,  battles,  pictures  of  still  life,  animals, 
landscapes,  portraits,  in  rapid  succession.  I  come 
now  to 

DELACROIX, 

who  has  contributed  a  picture,  in  front  of  which 
I  always  see  standing  many  groups,  and  which, 
therefore,  I  include  in  my  list  of  paintings  that 
have  excited  most  attention.  The  sacredness  of 
the  subject  will  not  permit  a  severe  criticism  of 
the  coloring;  otherwise  it  might  not  well  stand 
the  ordeal.  But  in  spite  of  certain  artistic  defects 
a  great  thought  breathes  in  this  picture  and  casts 
its  spell  upon  us.  It  represents  a  group  of  the 
populace  during  the  July  revolution :  almost  as 
in  an  allegory,  there  is  prominent  in  the  fore- 
ground a  youthful  female,  a  red  Phrygian  cap 
upon  her  head ;  in  one  hand  she  holds  a  musket, 
and  in  the  other  the  tri-color  flag.  She  strides 
over  the  dead  bodies,  as  if  leading  on  to  battle. 
It  is  a  lithe  and  active  figure,  bare  to  the  hips. 
The  face  is  in  profile,  and  the  expression  of  the 


68  THE   SALON. 

features  is  that  of  reckless  grief;  she  is  a  curious 
combination  of  Phryne,  poissarde,  and  the  goddess 
of  Liberty.  It  is  not  quite  clearly  expressed  that 
she  is  intended  to  represent  the  latter  :  she  appears 
rather  to  be  intended  as  the  personification  of  the 
wild,  fierce  power  of  the  people,  freeing  itself 
from  oppression. 

I  must  confess  that  this  figure  reminds  me  of 
those  peripatetic  nymphs  who  swarm  along  the 
boulevards  of  an  evening,  and  that  the  little, 
sooty  chimney-sweep  of  a  Cupid,  who,  brandish- 
ing a  pistol  in  each  hand,  stands  by  the  side  of  this 
Venus  of  the  streets,  is  not  overly  clean.  I  must 
also  admit  that  the  candidate  for  the  honors  of  the 
Pantheon  who  lies  dead  on  the  ground  looks  like 
a  scamp  ;  and  that  the  hero  who,  musket  in  hand, 
is  furiously  charging  on  the  foe,  has  a  villainous, 
galley  look,  and  the  vile  odor  of  the  jail  undoubt- 
edly clings  to  his  shabby,  tattered  coat.  But  the 
picture  is  intended  to  convey  the  impression  that 
a  great  idea  has  ennobled  and  sanctified  this  riff- 
raff, these  offscourings  of  humanity,  and  awakened 
the  latent  greatness  of  their  souls. 

Sacred  and  memorable  days  of  July!  Ye  shall 
unto  all  times  be  a  witness  of  mankind's  innate 
nobility,  which  can  never  be  entirely  destroyed. 
He  who  has  lived  to  see  you  will  never  more  join 
in  sad  lamenting  o'er  the  buried  hopes  of  the  past, 
but  will  joyfully  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the 


THE   SALON. 


69 


nations.  Holy  days  of  July!  How  brightly  shone 
the  sun,  and  how  grand  was  the  populace  of  Paris! 
The  gods  above  looked  down  on  the  glorious  com- 
bat, and  the  heavens  re-echoed  with  their  admiring 
shouts.  Gladly  would  the  immortals  have  left  their 
golden  thrones,  to  descend  on  earth  and  become 
citizens  of  Paris. 

Among  the  spectators  were  several  who  had 
fought  in  the  various  street-fights  here  pictured, 
or  had  at  least  been  lookers-on ;  and  they  were 
never  tired  of  praising  the  painting.  "  Martin," 
cried  an  cpicier,  "those  gamins  fought  like  giants." 
An  old  Alsatian  corporal  remarked  in  German  to 
his  comrade,  "What  a  great  art  painting  is,  after 
all !  How  exactly  every  tiling  is  pictured  here !  Just 
see  that  dead  man ;  he  looks  as  natural  as  life." 

"  Papa,"  cried  a  young  Carlist,  "who  is  that  dirty 
woman  with  the  red  cap?"  "Truly,"  said  mock- 
ingly the  patrician  papa,  with  ill-suppressed  laugh- 
ter, "truly,  my  child,  she  does  not  remind  one  of 
the  whiteness  and  purity  of  the  lily.  It  is  the  god- 
dess of  Liberty."  "But,  papa,  she  has  not  even  a 
chemise  on."  "You  must  know,  my  dear  child, 
that  a  true  goddess  of  Liberty  seldom  indulges  in 
such  a  luxury,  and  hence  she  is  always  very  much 
embittered  against  those  who  wear  clean  linen." 

At  these  words  the  speaker  drew  his  cuffs  for- 
ward, so  as  to  cover  more  of  his  long,  delicate 
hands  (which  were  evidently  unused  to  work),  and 
7 


yo  THE   SALON. 

remarked  to  his  neighbor,  "Your  Eminence,  if 
to-day  the  republicans  should  be  lucky  enough  to 
have  an  old  woman  shot  down  by  the  National 
Guards  near  the  St.  Denis  gate,  they  would  carry 
the  dead  body  in  sacred  procession  through  the 
boulevards,  all  Paris  would  become  excited  to 
frenzy,  and  we  should  then  have  a  new  revolu- 
tion." "So  much  the  better,"  whispered  the  slim, 
tall  man  with  closely-buttoned  coat, — nearly  all 
priests  in  Paris  now  mask  themselves  in  secular 
garb,  perhaps  out  of  fear  of  popular  insult,  or, 
mayhap,  on  account  of  an  evil  conscience, — "so 
much  the  better,  marquis.  The  more  horrible  the 
excess,  the  more  quickly  will  come  the  reaction ; 
when  that  comes,  the  revolution  will  devour  its 
instigators,  particularly  those  foolish  bankers,  who, 
heaven  be  praised  for  it,  have  already  ruined  them- 
selves." "True,  your  Eminence:  they  sought  to 
destroy  us,  a  tout  prix,  because  we  would  not  re- 
ceive them  into  our  society:  that  is  the  secret 
cause  of  the  revolution  of  July,  and  to  accomplish 
it  money  was  distributed  among  the  rabble,  and 
the  manufacturers  gave  a  holiday  to  the  workmen, 
and  the  tavern-keepers  were  bribed  to  give  away 
their  liquors  gratis,  after  mixing  powder  therein, 
in  order  to  excite  and  madden  the  populace ;  ct  die 
rcstc,  c'etait  le  soldi ^ 

The  marquis  was  perhaps  in  the  right:  it  was 
the   sun.      When,   in    that   memorable   July,   the 


THE   SALON.  7 1 

country's  liberties  were  threatened,  the  sun  shone 
down  its  fiercest  and  most  burning  rays,  until  it 
had  inflamed  the  hearts  of  the  Parisians;  then  the 
populace  of  Paris  arose  against  the  rotten  Bastilles 
and  ordonnances,  and  threw  off  the  yoke  of  bond- 
age. For  well  do  sun  and  city  understand  and 
love  each  other.  At  eve,  ere  the  sun  descends  into 
old  ocean,  his  glances  linger  lovingly  on  beautiful 
Paris,  and  his  last  rays  kiss  the  tri-color  banners 
that  flutter  from  her  turrets.  Quite  appropriate 
was  the  suggestion  of  a  French  poet,  to  celebrate 
those  glorious  July  days  by  a  symbolic  marriage; 
and  as  the  Doge  of  Venice  yearly  mounted  the 
golden  Bucentaur  to  wed  the  lordly  city  of  Venice 
with  the  Adriatic,  so  should  the  site  of  the  razed 
Bastille  witness  the  annual  marriage-ceremony  of 
Paris  and  the  sun.  Casimir  Perier  did  not  incline 
favorably  to  this  proposition:  he  feared  the  tumults 
of  such  a  nuptial  eve;  he  dreaded  the  too  great 
ardor  of  such  a  marriage,  and,  at  most,  he  would 
tolerate  only  a  morganatic  alliance  between  Paris 
and  the  sun. 

L.    ROBERT. 

*  *  *  This  painter,  who  in  some  of  his  pic- 
tures has  glorified  and  transfigured  death  itself, 
has  in  his  great  work  "The  Reapers"  still  more 
successfully  and  grandly  portrayed  life.  This  pic- 
ture is  the  very  apotheosis  of  life:  looking  on  it, 


72 


THE   SALON. 


we  forget  that  there  is  a  land  of  shadows,  and  we 
doubt  whether  on  earth  there  be  a  scene  more 
grand  and  beautiful  than  this.  "Earth  is  heaven, 
and  men  are  holy  and  divine :"  that  is  the  great 
revelation  which  so  eloquently  beams  from  the 
glowing  colors  of  this  picture. 

We  see  on  the  canvas,  by  the  glimmer  of  a 
lovely  Italian  twilight,  a  desolate  region  in  the 
Romagna.  In  the  centre  of  the  picture  stands  a 
farmer's  wagon,  drawn  by  two  steers,  which  arc 
harnessed  with  heavy  chains.  The  wagon  is  loaded 
with  a  family  of  peasants,  making  a  halt.  To  the 
right,  next  to  their  sheaves,  are  seated  female 
reapers,  resting  from  their  labors,  while  a  meriy 
fellow  is  dancing  to  the  lively  music  of  the  pipe. 
We  almost  seem  to  hear  the  pleasant,  inspiriting 
melody,  and  the  words, 

"  Damigella,  tutta  bella, 
Versa,  versa  il  be!  vino." 

To  the  left,  carrying  baskets  of  fruit,  are  young 
and  pretty  women,  crowned  with  flowers  and 
grasses.  Coming  from  the  same  direction  are 
two  young  reapers,  one  of  whom,  with  a  some- 
what voluptuous,  languishing  glance,  is  about 
stretching  himself  on  the  sward  ;  the  other,  how- 
ever, merrily  swings  the  uplifted  sickle.  Between 
the  two  steers  stands  a  burly,  brawny  fellow,  evi- 
dently a  serving-man,  who  takes  his  siesta  stand- 


THE   SALON. 


71 


ing.  On  the  wag-on,  softly  bedded,  reclines  the 
grandfather,  a  mild-looking,  feeble  old  man  ;  seated 
astride  one  of  the  steers  we  see  his  son,  with  a 
quiet,  manly  look,  holding  in  his  hand  a  whip, — 
emblem  of  authority ;  on  the  wagon  is  seated  his 
young  and  beautiful  wife,  a  child  in  her  arms, — a 
rose  with  its  bud, — and  by  her  side  stands  a  hand- 
some lad,  probably  her  brother,  who  is  just  in  the 
act  of  raising  the  canvas  cover.  There  are  extant 
copper  engravings  of  this  picture,  but  no  engraving 
and  no  description  can  denote  truly  the  wondrous 
charm  of  this  painting,  for  that  which  constitutes 
its  magic  is  the  coloring.  The  human  figures  are 
all  painted  in  darker  colors  than  the  sky  which 
forms  the  background,  and  this  reflected  radiance 
of  the  sky  invests  the  group  with  a  peculiarly 
light  and  cheerful  aspect. 

DELAROCHE. 

Delaroche,  the  great  historical  painter,  has  four 
pictures  on  exhibition  this  year.  Two  are  taken 
from  French  and  two  from  English  history.  One 
of  the  pictures  represents  Cardinal  Richelieu,  pale 
and  dying,  sailing  in  a  barge  up  the  Rhone  from 
Tarascon.  Behind  the  first  boat,  and  attached  to 
it,  glides  a  second  boat,  wherein  are  seated  Cinq- 
Mars  and  De  Thou,  whom  Richelieu  himself  is 
conducting  to  Lyons,  there  to  have  them  beheaded. 
Two  boats,  one  following  in  the  wake  of  the  other, 

7* 


y^  THE   SALON. 

is  an  unartistic  conception ;  but  it  is  here  executed 
with  much  skill.  The  coloring  is  brilliant,  even 
dazzling,  and  the  human  forms  are  almost  trans- 
fic^ured  in  the  cfolden  radiance  of  the  settincr  sun. 
The  contrast  between  this  beautiful  scene  and  the 
sad  fate  that  awaits  the  three  chief  personages 
makes  a  most  mournful  impression  on  the  be- 
holder. Imagine  two  striplings,  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  being  dragged  to  an  ignominious  death, 
and  that  by  a  gray-haired,  dying  old  man.  Brightly 
and  picturesquely  are  the  boats  decked,  but  their 
voyage  leads  to  the  shadowy  realm  of  death.  The 
sun's  glorious  rays  of  molten  gold  are  only  a  part- 
ing greeting,  for  it  is  evening,  and  the  sun  must 
also  depart :  one  crimson  streak  of  light  gilds  the 
sky, — and  then  all  is  night. 

*  *  *  The  other  picture  represents  Cromwell 
standing  by  the  coffin  of  Charles  the  First.  In 
a  half-darkened  chamber  of  Whitehall,  supported 
on  stools  of  dark-red  velvet,  rests  the  coffin  of 
the  beheaded  king ;  and  by  it  stands  one  who, 
with  untrcmbling  hand,  lifts  the  cover  and  calmly 
looks  down  upon  the  corpse.  He  is  all  alone.  His 
figure  is  short  and  stout,  his  position  careless,  his 
face  somewhat  boorish,  but  firm  and  honest.  His 
garb  is  that  of  a  Puritanic  warrior, — severely  plain 
and  unadorned  :  a  long,  dark-brown  velvet  coat ; 
under  it  a  buff  leathern  vest;  high-topped  riding- 
boots  that  leave  but  little  of  the  black  trowscrs 


THE   SALON. 


75 


visible;  over  the  breast  hangs  a  soiled,  yellow  belt, 
attached  to  which  is  a  dagger  with  curious  hilt. 
The  short  hair  is  covered  by  a  black  hat  with 
turned-up  rim  and  surmounted  by  a  scarlet  plume  ; 
around  the  neck  a  small  turned-down  collar,  from 
under  which  the  armor  peeps  out ;  dirty  leathern 
gloves  ;  in  one  hand  he  holds  a  cane,  on  which 
he  leans ;  the  other  holds  the  cover  of  the  coffin, 
wherein  lies  the  dead  king. 

The  dead  have  in  their  features  an  expression 
that  makes  the  living,  standing  by  their  side,  ap- 
pear insignificant,  for  they  excel  in  a  certain  calm 
reserve  and  majestic  freedom  from  passion.  Men 
feel  this,  and,  out  of  respect  for  those  who  have 
attained  the  high  rank  of  death,  the  guard  on 
duty  always  salutes  when  a  corpse  is  being  carried 
by,  even  if  it  be  the  corpse  of  the  most  pitiful  of 
mankind. 

*  *  "^  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Delaroche, 
by  this  picture,  has  purposely  sought  to  sug- 
gest historical  parallels.  Comparisons  were  con- 
stantly being  instituted  between  Charles  I.  and 
Louis  XVI.,  between  Cromwell  and  Napoleon. 
But  both  of  the  latter  were  wronged  by  such  a 
comparison.  Napoleon  was  guiltless  of  regicide  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  Cromwell  never  sank  so 
low  as  to  permit  himself  to  be  anointed  Emperor 
by  a  priest,  and,  like  a  renegade  son  of  the  Revo- 
lution, seek  to  wed  himself  to  the  blood  of  the 


76 


THE   SALON. 


Caesars.  On  the  fame  of  one  is  a  blood-stain ;  on 
the  other,  the  oil-stain  of  priestly  anointing.  And 
both  Napoleon  and  Cromwell  felt  the  stings  of 
secret  guilt. 

Bonaparte,  who  might  have  been  the  Washing- 
ton of  Europe,  and  was  only  its  Napoleon,  never 
felt  at  ease  in  his  royal  robes.  Liberty  haunted 
him  like  the  ghost  of  a  murdered  mother  :  even 
at  the  dead  of  night  he  heard  voices,  frightening 
him  from  his  couch  and  from  the  arms  of  wedded 
legitimacy.  Then  he  might  have  been  seen  hastily 
pacing  the  vaulted  apartments  of  the  Tuilleries, 
fuming  and  raging;  and  when  in  the  morning  he 
came,  pale  and  wearied,  into  the  council-chamber, 
he  bitterly  inveighed  against  ideology, — that  very 
dangerous  ideology, — ideology  over  and  over 
again. 

*  *  *  By  the  side  of  Delaroche's  picture  of 
Cromwell  was  hung  Robert's  peaceful,  tranquil- 
lizing masterpiece.  When  from  the  dark  back- 
ground there  appears  the  rude,  coarse,  warlike 
Puritan,  before  him  the  royal  head  which  this 
terrible  reaper  has  mown  off,  the  spectator's  heart 
is  deeply  agitated,  and  his  soul  is  convulsed  and 
stirred  to  its  depths  by  the  fierce  contentions  and 
dissensions  of  politics.  Then  let  his  glance  but 
fall  upon  those  other  reapers,  who,  in  the  golden 
sunshine,  are  homeward-bound  to  celebrate  the 
merry  harvest-feast  of  love  and  peace:    then  the 


777^   SALON. 


77 


angry  tumult  of  his  soul  is  stilled  by  the  soothing, 
consoling  magic  of  the  painter's  art. 

In  the  presence  5f  Delaroche's  picture  we  feel 
that  the  great  conflict  of  ages  is  not  yet  ended ; 
we  feel  the  earth  tremble  beneath  us ;  we  hear 
the  storm-blast's  furious  roar,  threatening  to  over- 
whelm the  world  with  its  destructive  fury;  blood 
flows  in  torrents,  and  the  yawning  abyss  thirstily 
swallows  up  the  gory  stream  ;  awe  and  terror  fill 
our  souls,  and  we  fear  for  our  own  safety.  But 
when  we  look  on  Robert's  picture  we  see  that  the 
earth  still  stands  secure  and  firm,  bringing  forth 
its  golden  fruits  to  bless  and  gladden  the  heart  of 
man.  If  in  the  one  picture  we  behold  that  strange 
and  bloody  drama  which  is  called  history,  in  the 
other  picture  we  see  a  still  greater  and  still  grander 
drama,  which  yet  finds  an  ample  stage  in  a  country 
wagon.  It  is  a  drama  without  a  beginning  and 
without  an  end  ;  a  story  that  is  eternally  repeat- 
ing itself,  and  is  yet  as  simple  as  the  sea,  as  the 
sky  above  us,  as  the  seasons.  It  is  a  holy  poem ; 
it  is  a  sacred  history,  whose  archives  are  to  be 
found  in  every  human  heart;  it  is  the  history  of 
humanity. 

*  *  *  In  criticising  a  work  of  art,  reason  is  by 
no  means  entitled  to  the  leading  part,  for  reason 
plays  quite  a  secondary  role  in  its  creation.  The 
conception  of  a  work  of  art  arises  out  of  the  tem- 
perament, and  to  realize  it  the  assistance  of  imagi- 


78 


THE   SALON. 


nation  is  required.  Imagination  alone,  however, 
overwhelming  and  almost  smothering  the  original 
idea  with  its  profusion  of  flowers,  would  cause  death 
rather  than  life,  were  it  not  for  reason,  which  now 
comes  limping  along,  shoves  aside  the  superfluous 
flowers,  or  trims  them  into  symmetry  with  its 
pruning-knife.  Reason  simply  maintains  order, 
and  is,  so  to  say,  the  police  in  the  realms  of  art. 
In  actual  life  reason  is  generally  a  cold-blooded 
calculator,  who  reckons  up  our  follies.  And  some- 
times, alas  !  he  is  merely  the  book-keeper  of  a 
broken,  bankrupt  heart,  who  calmly  figures  out 
the  amount  of  deficit. 

The  critic's  chief  error  consists  in  asking.  What 
ought  the  artist  to  do  ?  Much  more  proper  would 
be  the  question.  What  docs  the  artist  strive  to  do  ? 
or,  better  still.  What  must  he  do?  The  question, 
What  ought  the  artist  to  do  ?  arose  through  those 
art-philosophers  who,  without  being  themselves 
poetical,  have  made  abstracts  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  various  works  of  art,  and  from  the  existing 
would  deduce  rules  to  govern  all  future  produc- 
tions, and  for  that  purpose  devised  and  invented 
definitions,  classifications,  and  axioms.  They  knew 
not  that  such  abstractions  could  only  be  useful 
to  measure  imitators  by,  but  that  every  artist  of 
originality,  nay,  even  of  talent,  must  be  criticised 
according  to  the  a:sthctics  introduced  by  himself. 
Rules  and  antiquated  erudite  axioms  are  still  less 


THE   SALON.  yg 

applicable  to  men  of  genius.  Menzel  says  truly 
that  for  young  giants  there  exist  no  rules  of 
fencing,  for  they  beat  down  all  parryings.  Every 
man  of  genius  must  be  studied  and  criticised  ac- 
cording to  his  own  aim.  Here  are  permissible  only 
the  questions,  Has  he  the  means  to  carry  out  his 
aim  ?  Has  he  employed  the  proper  means  ?  This 
is  safe-  ground.  Here  we  no  longer  attempt  to 
model  each  strange  work  according  to  our  subject- 
ive views,  but  we  try  to  comprehend  what  God- 
given  powers  are  at  the  artist's  command  to  realize 
his  aim.  In  the  recitative  arts  these  means  consist 
of  tones  and  words.  In  the  pictorial  arts  they 
consist  of  colors  and  forms.  Tones  and  words, 
colors  and  forms,  are,  however,  only  synibols  of 
the  thought, — symbols  that  arise  in  the  mind  of 
the  artist  when  the  holy  inspiration  is  upon  him  ; 
his  art-productions  are  only  symbols  through 
which  he  communicates  his  own  thought  to  other 
minds.  He  who  with  the  fewest  and  simplest 
symbols  can  express  the  most  profound  and  most 
weighty  thoughts  is  the  greatest  artist.  To  me 
it  seems  worthy  of  the  highest  praise  when  the 
symbols  through  which  the  artist  expresses  his 
thoughts  are,  of  themselves  and  apart  from  their 
inner  signification,  pleasing  to  the  senses  ;  like  the 
flowers  of  Sekam,  which,  apart  from  their  hidden 
meaning,  are  lovely  and  fragrant  and  harmonize 
into  a  beautiful  bouquet.     But  is  such  harmony 


3o  THE   SALON. 

always  possible?  Is  the  artist  entirely  free  of  will 
in  the  selection  and  combination  of  his  mystical 
flowers  ?  or  does  he  merely  select  and  combine 
as  he  must?  I  affirm  the  existence  of  a  myste- 
rious compulsion:  the  artist  resembles  that  som- 
nambulistic princess  who  during  the  night  plucked 
tastefully  the  most  beautiful  flowers  in  the  gardens 
of  Bagdad  and  bound  them  together  in  a  sekam, 
of  whose  signification,  however,  she  herself  was 
entirely  unconscious  on  waking.  She  sat  in  the 
harem  in  the  morning,  pensively  contemplating 
the  bouquet,  musing  over  it  as  over  a  half-for- 
gotten dream,  and  finally  she  sent  it  to  her  be- 
loved caliph.  The  sleek  eunuch  who  was  the 
messenger  was  highly  delighted  with  the  pretty 
flowers,  without,  however,  surmising  their  import. 
But  Haroun  Alraschid,  the  ruler  of  the  faithful, 
the  successor  of  the  prophets,  the  possessor  of 
the  ring  of  Solomon, — he  immediately  recognized 
the  meaning  of  the  beautiful  bouquet:  his  heart 
leaped  with  joy,  he  kissed  every  flower,  and  he 
laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  his  long  beard. 

*  *  *  My  old  prophecy,  that  the  art-period 
which  began  at  Goethe's  cradle  would  end  at  his 
coffin,  seems  to  be  near  its  fulfillment.  The  present 
school  of  art  is  doomed  to  destruction,  because  its 
underlying  principle  has  its  root  in  the  dead  past 
of  an  antiquated  era,  that  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Catholic  empire.      Therefore,  like  all  other  with- 


THE   SALON.  gl 

ered  remains  of  that  past  epoch,  it  is  no  longer  in 
harmony  with  the  present.  This  want  of  harmony, 
and  not  the  stirring  events  of  the  times,  is  the 
cause  of  the  present  dechne  of  art :  on  the  con- 
trary, these  very  agitations  ought  to  favor  the 
prosperity  of  art,  as  was  formerly  the  case  in 
Athens  and  Florence,  where  amidst  wars  and  the 
most  violent  strifes  of  factions  art  unfolded  its 
most  beautiful  blossoms.  To  be  sure,  those  Greek 
and  Florentine  artists  lived  no  egotistic,  isolated 
art-lives;  their  souls,  though  open  to  poesy,  were 
not  hermetically  closed  to  the  great  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  their  era.  Their  works  were  but  dreamy 
reflections  of  their  times,  and  they  themselves  were 
whole  men,  whose  personality  was  as  marked  as 
their  plastic  powers.  Phidias  and  Michael  Angelo 
were  men  of  the  same  material  as  the  creations  of 
their  imagination ;  and  just  as  the  latter  were  in 
unison  with  the  Greek  temples  and  Catholic  cathe- 
drals, so  were  these  artists  in  divine  harmony  with 
their  surroundings.  They  did  not  separate  their 
art  from  the  politics  of  the  day  ;  they  did  not  work 
each  with  his  own  pitiful,  private,  mock  enthusiasm, 
which  at  will  they  could  sham  into  all  subjects. 
iEschylus  sang  of  the  Persians  with  the  same  sin- 
cerity as  at  Marathon  he  fought  against  them,  and 
Dante  wrote  his  comedy,  not  to  order,  like  a 
modern  commission-poet,  but  as  a  fugitive  Guelf, 
and  in  exile  and  misery  he  never  sniveled  about 

8 


32  THE   SALON. 

the  ruin  of  his  poetic  talents,  but  mourned  o'er  the 
downfall  of  freedom. 

But  the  new  times  will  also  give  birth  to  a  new 
school  of  art,  which  shall  be  in  sacred  harmony 
therewith,  and  which  shall  not  need  to  borrow  its 
symbols  from  a  perished  past. 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF   HERR  VON 
SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 

A   FRAGMENT. 

My  mother  herself  packed  my  trunk ;  with 
every  shirt  she  also  packed  some  good  advice. 
In  later  times  the  laundresses  exchanged  all  these 
shirts,  together  with  the  good  advice.  My  father 
was  deeply  moved,  and  gave  me  a  long  list  of  rules 
how  to  demean  myself  in  every  possible  contin- 
gency that  might  occur  in  my  life.  The  first  rule 
was,  to  turn  each  ducat  ten  times  before  spending 
it.  At  first  I  did  so;  but  I  soon  found  the  ever- 
lasting turning  too  tedious.  With  the  rules,  my 
father  also  gave  me  the  ducats  necessary  for  the 
turning  process. 

*  *  *  My  first  destination  was  Hamburg,  where 
I  was  to  study  theology,  in  conformity  with  the 
wishes  of  my  parents ;  but  I  must  confess  that 
during  my  stay  I  occupied  myself  more  with 
worldly  than  with  divine  matters. 

*  *  *  The  city  of  Hamburg  is  one  of  the  old 
free  cities  of  Germany;  and,  in  fact,  one  finds  there 

83 


84 


FROM  THE   MEMOIRS   OF 


a  remarkable  degree  of  freedom.  The  citizens  do 
what  they  please,  and  the  wise  and  august  senate 
does  what  it  pleases.  The  customs  of  Hamburg 
are  English,  and  its  eating  is  heavenly.  In  truth, 
dishes  are  to  be  found  there  not  dreamt  of  in  our 
philosophies. 

*  *  *  Concerning  religion,  politics,  and  science, 
the  people  of  Hamburg  differ,  but  in  regard  to 
gastronomy  the  most  beautiful  harmony  prevails. 
Let  the  Christian  theologians  bicker  as  they  see 
fit  over  the  import  of  the  sacramental  Supper;  as 
regards  what  suppers  in  general  ought  to  be,  they 
are  a  unit.  Let  there  be  among  the  Jews  one 
party  that  will  have  grace  said  in  German,  and 
another  faction  that  insists  on  chanting  the  grace 
in  Hebrew ;  both  parties  eat,  yea,  and  partake  of 
excellent  fare,  and  are  judges  of  good  eating.  The 
military,  I  have  no  doubt,  are  quite  Spartan  in 
their  heroism,  but  of  Spartan  black  broth  they 
desire  to  know  nothing. 

The  physicians,  who  are  so  discordant  among 
themselves  as  to  the  treatment  of  diseases,  and 
who,  if  allopaths,  prescribe  smoked  beef  for  the 
national  ailment,  dyspepsia,  and,  if  homoeopaths, 
one-ten-thousandth  of  a  drop  '  of  absinthe  dis- 
solved in  a  large  bowl  of  turtle-soup, — all  agree 
in  regard  to  the  flavor  of  the  smoked  beef  and 
the  seasoning  of  the  turtle-soup. 

Hamburg  is,  in  sooth,  the  native  city  of  smoked 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKL  9,c 

/. 

beeUand  is  prouder  of  it  than  Mayence  is  of  her 
Johann  Faust,  or  Eisleben  of  her  Luther;  for  what 
are  printing  and  the  Reformation  in  comparison 
with  smoked  beef?  Whether  the  two  first  have 
been  a  blessing  or  an  evil,  is  still  a  matter  of  dis- 
pute between  two  parties  in  Germany;  but  even 
our  most  zealous  Jesuits  admit  that  smoked  beef 
is  a  beneficial  invention. 

*  *  *  Among  the  remarkable  places  of  the  city 
is  the  theatre,  which  merits  special  mention.  Its 
actors  are  good,  orderly  citizens, —  respectable 
patres-familiares, — who  know  nothing  of  dissem- 
bling and  dissimulation,  and  who  deceive  no  one. 
They  are  pious  men,  who  convert  the  theatre  into 
a  house  of  God,  by  convincing  the  skeptic  who 
has  lost  faith  in  mankind  that  there  is  at  least  one 
spot  free  from  hypocrisy  and  deceit. 

*  *  *  For  the  benefit  of  such  readers  as  are 
not  familiar  with  the  localities  of  Hamburg, — and 
perhaps  there  are  such  in  China  or  Upper  Bava- 
ria,— I  would  remark  that  one  of  the  most  popular 
promenades  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Ham- 
monia  is  the  beautiful  and  appropriately  named 
Maiden  Lane.  Here,  fronting  on  a  lakelet,  and 
under  the  shade  of  linden-trees,  are  cosy  arbors, 
in  which  it  is  pleasant  to  sit  of  a  summer's  after- 
noon, when  the  sun  shines  not  too  fiercely,  but 
smiles  genially  down  upon  the  linden-trees,  and 
the  houses,  and  the  people,  and  the  swans  floating 

8* 


85  FROM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

upon  the  silver  bosom  of  the  lakelet,  until  it  almost 
seems  like  a  scene  from  fairy-land.  There  I  sat 
during  many  a  pleasant  summer  afternoon,  think- 
ing of — what  a  young  man  generally  does  think 
of,  which  is — nothing;  watching — what  a  young 
man  generally  does  watch,  which  is — the  young 
misses  promenading  to  and  fro.  Ah!  those  were 
the  halcyon  days  when  Dame  Fortune  smiled  upon 
me;  and  Dame  Fortune's  name  was  then  Helo'ise. 
And  Helo'ise  smiled  on  mc  often,  for  she  had 
beautiful  teeth. 

She  was  a  sweet,  pretty,  bewitching  little  Dame 
Fortune,  with  rosy  cheeks,  a  delicately-formed 
nose,  skin  white  as  a  lily,  eyes  blue  as  a  mountain- 
lake. 

*  *  *  Methinks  I  still  see  her  cherry-colored 
striped  dress,  which  cost  me  four  marcs  and  three 
shillings  per  yard,  and  Herr  Seligmann  warranted 
the  stripes  to  be  fast  colors. 

If,  gentle  reader,  I  have  led  you  into  so-called 
"bad  company,"  console  yourself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  it  has  not  cost  you  so  much  as  it  did  me. 

*  *  *  Often  thus,  lost  in  pleasant,  idle  reveries, 
I  sat  contemplating  the  lasses,  and  the  clear,  serene 
skies,  and  St.  Peter's  tower,  with  its  slender  steeple, 
and  the  quiet  blue  Alster,  on  which  the  swans  were 
sailing  in  stately,  graceful,  and  composed  motion. 
Oh,  the  swans!  I  could  watch  them  for  hours, 
those   lovely  creatures,  with   their   long,  beautiful 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


87 


necks,  voluptuously  rocking  themselves  on  the 
limpid  waves,  at  intervals  joyously  diving  out  of 
sight,  then  reappearing,  arrogantly  splashing  about 
in  the  water,  until  the  skies  darkened,  and  the 
stars  came  forth, — longing,  consoling,  marvelously 
tender,  transfigured.  The  stars  !  are  they  golden 
flowers  decking  the  bridal  bosom  of  the  sky?  or 
are  they  the  amorous  glances  of  angels'  eyes,  that 
yearningly  mirror  themselves  in  the  waters  of  the 
earth,  and  coquette  with  the  swans? 

Ah !  that  was  long,  long  ago.  Then  I  was 
young  and  foolish, — now  I  am  old  and  foolish. 
Since  then  many  a  flower  has  faded,  and  some 
even  have  been  crushed.  Many  a  silken  robe  has 
since  then  been  torn  into  tatters  ;  and  even  Herr 
Seligmann's  cherry-striped  chintz  has  lost  its  color. 
And  as  for  Hclo'ise  herself,  when  next  I  met  her 
she  looked  like  Solomon's  Temple  after  it  had  been 
razed  by  Nebuchadnezzar. 

And  the  city  itself,  how  changed  !  and  Maiden 
Lane !  Snow  lay  on  all  the  roofs,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  the  houses  had  likewise  whitened  with  age.  The 
lindens  were  dead  trees,  whose  barren  boughs 
swayed  like  spectres  in  the  cold  wind.  The  sky 
was  of  an  ashy  blue,  and  darkened  rapidly. 

*  =;-  *  But  more  dismal,  more  mysterious  than 
these  sights  were  the  sounds  that  pierced  my 
ears  from  another  quarter.  They  were  hoarse, 
snarling,    metallic   tones,  a   frantic   screeching,   a 


88  FROM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

frightened  splashing  and  despairing  struggh"ng,  a 
gasping  and  wheezing,  a  gurgh'ng  and  groaning, 
an  indescribable  blood-curdling  shriek  of  pain  and 
terror.  The  basin  of  the  Alster  was  frozen  over. 
A  large,  broad  quadrangle  had  been  cut  into  the 
ice,  and  the  horrible  cries  that  I  had  just  heard 
came  from  the  throats  of  the  poor  white  creatures 
that  were  swimming  around  therein,  uttering  those 
terrible  shrieks  of  death-agony ;  and,  alas  !  they 
were  the  same  swans  that  had  once  so  tenderly 
and  merrily  moved  my  soul,  Alas  for  the  beau- 
tiful white  swans!  their  wings  had  been  broken, 
so  that  they  could  not  in  the  autumn  emigrate  to 
the  warm  South.  And  now  the  North  held  them 
spell-bound  in  its  dark  ice-pits,  and  the  keeper  of 
the  pavilion  opined  that  they  were  quite  comfort- 
able therein,  and  that  the  cold  was  healthy  for 
them.  But  that  is  not  true :  one  is  not  comfort- 
able when  helplessly  imprisoned,  almost  frozen  in 
a  cold  pool,  and  one's  wings  broken,  so  that  it 
is  impossible  to  fly  away  to  the  beautiful  South, 
where  dwell  the  loveliest  flowers,  and  where  the 
sun  shines  brightly  over  the  blue  mountain-lakes. 
Alas !  once  I  fared  not  much  better,  and  hence  I 
understood  the  tortures  of  these  poor  swans  ;  and 
as  it  darkened  more  and  more,  and  the  luminous 
stars  came  forth,  the  same  stars  that  once  in  lovely 
summer  nights  so  lovingly  caressed  the  swans, 
but  now  looked  down  upon  them,  cold  as  winter, 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


89 


frostily  clear,  almost  mockingly, — well  did  I  now 
comprehend  that  the  stars  are  no  loving,  sympa- 
thetic beings,  but  only  glittering  illusions  of  night, 
eternal  phantoms  in  an  imaginary  sky,  golden  lies 
on  a  dark-blue  nothing. 

*  "^  *  It  was  on  a  most  lovely  spring  day 
that  I  left  Hamburg.  Still  can  I  see  the  golden 
sunlight  playing  over  the  ships  in  the  harbor;  still 
do  I  hear  the  merry,  long-drawn-out  chant,  "  Hoi- 
ho!"  of  the  sailors.  Such  a  harbor  in  spring- 
time has  a  most  pleasing  resemblance  to  the  tem- 
perament of  one  who  in  the  first  flush  of  youth 
goes  into  the  busy  world  and  for  the  first  time 
ventures  upon  the  broad  ocean  of  life.  As  yet  his 
thoughts  stream  like  variegated  pennons ;  enthu- 
siasm swells  the  sails  of  his  wishes,  Hoi-ho !  but 
soon  storms  arise,  the  horizon  darkens,  the  winds 
howl,  the  planks  creak,  the  billows  break  the  rud- 
der, and  the  poor  ship  is  dashed  to  pieces  on  some 
romantic  crag,  or  strands  on  some  shallow  prosaic 
sand-bar,  or,  perhaps,  worm-eaten  and  shattered, 
with  drooping  masts,  without  a  single  anchor  of 
hope,  it  reaches  again  the  old  harbor,  and  there, 
piteously  dismantled,  grows  rotten  with  age,  a 
miserable  wreck. 

But  there  are,  too,  men  who  are  not  to  be  com- 
pared to  ordinary  vessels,  but  who  rather  resemble 
steamers.  They  carry  in  their  breasts  a  dark, 
smouldering  fire,  and  they  sail  against  wind  and 


go  FROM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

weather.  Their  smoke  banners  flutter  like  the 
bkick  plumes  of  a  rider  by  night;  the  side-wheels 
of  the  steamer  are  like  colossal  spurs,  which  they 
strike  into  the  wave-ribs  of  ocean,  and  the  rebel- 
lious, foaming  element  must  obey  their  will,  like 
a  steed  its  rider;  but  often  the  boiler  bursts,  and 
then  the  internal  flame  consumes  us. 

*  *  *  At  Leyden  I  found  the  eating  misera- 
bly poor.  '  The  republic  of  Hamburg  had  spoiled 
me.  I  cannot  here  omit  an  additional  tribute  of 
praise  for  Hamburg's  kitchen.  Oh,  ye  gods  !  how 
did  I  the  first  four  weeks  yearn  for  the  smoked 
beef  and  mock-turtle  of  Hammonia!  I  languished 
in  heart  and  stomach ;  and,  had  not  my  landlady 
of  "  The  Red  Cow"  fallen  in  love  with  me,  I  must 
hav^e  perished  from  longing. 

Hail  to  thee,  landlady  of  "The  Red  Cow"! 
She  was  a  plump  little  woman,  with  a  remarkably 
corpulent  body,  and  a  remarkably  small,  round 
head,  red  checks,  blue  eyes, — roses  and  violets. 
For  hours  we  sat  together  in  the  garden,  drinking 
tea  out  of  genuine  Chinese  porcelain  cups.  It 
was  a  pretty  garden,  laid  out  in  four-  and  three- 
cornered  beds,  around  which  were  symmetrically 
strewed  gold-sand,  cinnabar,  and  small  white  shells. 
The  trunks  of  the  trees  were  daintily  painted  red 
and  blue.  Then  there  were  copper  cages  filled  \Vith 
canary-birds,  and  onion-plants  in  variegated  glazed 
pots.     The  garden  was  also  ornamented  with  little 


HERE    VON  SCHNABELEIVOPSKI.  gj 

wooden  statuettes,  representing  obelisks,  pyramids, 
vases,  and  animals.  My  attention  was  particularly 
attracted  to  a  green  ox,  which  glared  at  mC  quite 
jealously  whenever  I  embraced  her,  the  lovely 
landlady  of  "  The  Red  Cow." 

Hail  to  thee,  landlady  of  ''The  Red  Cow"! 
When  Myn  Frow  covered  the  upper  part  of  her 
head  with  plaits,  and  robed  herself  in  a  many- 
colored,  flowered  damask  dress,  and  heavily  loaded 
her  arms  with  white  Brabant  lace,  then  she  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  a  fabulous  Chinese  doll, — 
probably  like  the  goddess  of  porcelain.  When 
then  in  my  rapture  I  kissed  her  a  loud  smack'  on 
each  cheek,  she  would  stand  as  stiff  as  porcelain, 
sighing,  porcelain-like,  "Myn  Heer."  Then  all  the 
tulips  of  the  garden  seemed  to  be  moved  with  sym- 
pathy, apparently  joining  in  the  sigh,  "  Myn  Hecr." 

This  amour  procured  me  many  a  choice  tid-bit. 
For  every  such  love-scene  had  an  influence  on  the 
contents  of  the  victual-basket  which  the  excellent 
landlady  daily  sent  to  my  apartment.  My  mess 
companions,  six  other  students  who  dined  with 
me  in  my  room,  could  always  tell  from  the  flavor 
of  the  roast  veal  or  beef  fillet  how  much  she  loved 
me,  Myn  Frow  the  landlady  of  "The  Red  Cow." 
If  once  in  a  while  the  eatables  happened  to  be  of 
an  inferior  quality,  I  had  to  submit  to  many  humil- 
iating gibes,  and  it  was  then, — "  See  how  poorly 
Schnabelcwopski  looks;    how  sallow  is  his  com- 


Q2  FROM  THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

plexion,  how  wrinkled  his  face,  how  sunken  his 
eyes:  it  is  no  wonder  that  our  landlady  has  grown 
tired  of  him,  and  now  sends  us  such  wretched 
meals."  Or  else  they  would  say,  "  Alas,  Schnabe- 
lewopski  grows  weaker  and  thinner  each  day,  and 
will  perhaps  finally  lose  entirely  the  favor  of  our 
landlady,  and  then  we  shall  always  have  poor  din- 
ners, like  to-day:  we  must  feed  him  well,  so  that 
he  may  again  present  a  more  ardent  exterior." 
And  then  they  would  force  the  most  unsavory 
morsels  into  my  mouth,  compelling  me  to  eat 
particularly  large  quantities  of  celery.  But  if  for 
sevtral  consecutive  days  the  fare  was  meagre,  I 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  most  earnest  expostu- 
lations and  entreaties  to  procure  better  food,  by 
re-awakening  the  flames  of  love  in  our  landlady's 
breast;  to  redouble  my  attentions  to  her;  in  brief, 
to  sacrifice  myself  for  the  general  good.  In  long 
harangues  it  was  then  eloquently  pictured  to  me 
how  grand  it  was  to  devote  one's  self  heroically 
to  the  welfare  of  one's  fellow-citizens,  like  Regu- 
lus,  who  permitted  himself  to  be  put  into  a  cask 
of  sharp  nails,  or  like  Theseus,  who  voluntarily 
ventured  into  the  cave  of  the  Minotaur;  and  then 
Livy  and  Plutarch  were  cited,  etc.  They  also 
sought  to  spur  me  into  emulation  by  drawing 
on  the  wall  pictorial  illustrations  of  those  great 
deeds,  and  that,  too,  with  grotesque  allusions,  for 
the  Minotaur  resembled  the  red  cow  on  the  well- 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKL  q^ 

known  inn-sign,  and  the  Carthaginian  cask  full  of 
nails  looked  like  our  landlady  herself  In  fact, 
these  ungrateful  beings  constantly  made  the  out- 
ward appearance  of  this  excellent  woman  the  butt 
of  their  wit.  Generally  they  constructed  an  effigy 
of  her  figure  with  apples,  or  kneaded  it  out  of 
bread-crumbs.  They  took  a  very  small  apple  to 
represent  the  head,  placed  it  on  the  top  of  a  very 
large  apple,  which  was  to  represent  the  body,  and 
the  latter  was  again  supported  by  two  tooth-picks, 
for  legs. 

When  the  roast  was  particularly  bad,  we  would 
argue  concerning  the  existence  of  God.  The  Lord 
had,  however,  always  a  majority.  Only  three  of  our 
mess  were  atheistically  inclined  ;  and  even  they 
would  allow  themselves  to  be  convinced  if  we  had 
good  cheese  for  dessert.  The  most  zealous  deist 
was  little  Simson,  who,  when  he  debated  with  tall 
Vanpitter,  became  occasionally  quite  violent,  and 
paced  the  room  excitedly,  saying,  "  By  God,  that 
is  beyond  endurance!" 

Vanpitter,  a  tall,  lank  Frieslander,  whose  tem- 
perament was  as  phlegmatic  as  the  waters  in  a 
Dutch  canal,  drew  his  arguments  from  German 
philosophy,  which  at  that  time  was  all  the  fashion 
in  Leyden.  He  ridiculed  the  narrow  minds  that 
attributed  to  God  a  separate  being,  as  a  something 
apart  from  the  universe ;  he  even  accused  them  of 
blasphemy  in  endowing  God  with  wisdom,  justice, 

9 


94  FROM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

lov^e,  and  similar  human  qualities,  which  are  not 
at  all  appropriate  for  him,  for  these  qualities  are 
merely  the  negation  of  corresponding  human  weak- 
nesses. But  when  Vanpitter  had  unfolded  his  own 
pantheistic  views,  a  certain  Dricksen,from  Utrecht, 
a  fat  disciple  of  Fichte,  took  the  field  against  him, 
and  satirized  keenly  this  vague,  pantheistic  deity. 
He  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  it  was  blas- 
phemy even  to  speak  of  the  existence  of  God,  in- 
asmuch as  existence  supposes  space,  or,  in  short, 
matter.  Yea,  it  would  be  blasphemous  to  say  of 
God,  "  He  is ;"  for  the  most  spiritual  being  cannot 
be  conceived  except  through  material  limitations. 
To  conceive  the  idea  of  God,  one  must  abstract 
from  it  everything  material,  and  think  of  him,  not 
as  a  form  of  space,  but  as  the  order  of  events. 

These  words  would  always  set  little  Simson 
raging,  and  he  would  pace  the  room  more  excitedly 
than  before,  crying,  in  still  louder  tones,  "  Oh,  God ! 
Oh,  God!  By  God!  This  is  too  much!"  I  believe 
he  would  have  beaten  the  fat  Fichtean  for  the 
honor  of  God,  had  he  not  been  too  small  and 
weak.  Sometimes  he  did  even  spring  at  him ;  but 
the  fat  one,  without  once  removing  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  quickly  grasped  little  Simson's  puny 
arms,  held  them  firmly,  very  composedly  explained 
to  him  the  Fichtean  system,  and  finally  blew  into 
his  face  his  thick  tobacco-smoke  together  with  his 
flimsy  arguments,  so    thnt    little   Simson,   almost 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKL 


95 


choked  with  smoke  and  rage,  could  only  whimper 
beseechingly,  scarce  audibly,  "Oh,  God!  oh,  God!" 
But  He  never  assisted  little  Simson,  although  he 
bravely  fought  His  battles. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  divine  indifference,  and 
notwithstanding  the  almost  human  ingratitude  of 
God,  little  Simson  remained  the  steadfast  cham- 
pion of  deism,  and  that,  I  believe,  from  an  inborn 
tendency.  For  his  ancestors  belonged  to  God's 
chosen  people, — a  people  whom  God  once  favored 
with  an  especial  affection,  and  who  consequently 
unto  this  day  cling  with  a  certain  attachment  to 
him.  The  Jews  have  always  been  the  Swiss  guard 
of  deism.  In  politics  the  Jews  may  be  extreme 
republicans ;  they  may  even  draggle  in  the  mire 
like  true  sans-culottes ;  but  when  religious  matters 
are  in  question,  they  remain  the  submissive  ser- 
vants of  their  Jehovah,  the  old  parvenu,  who 
wishes  to  know  nothing  more  of  the  whole  pack, 
and  has  let  himself  be  baptized  into  a  pure  divine 
Spirit. 

I  believe  that  this  pure  divine  Spirit,  this  par- 
venu of  heaven,  who  has  now  arrived  at  a  state  of 
moral,  cosmopolitan,  and  universal  culture,  has  a 
secret  grudge  against  the  poor  Jews,  who  knew 
him  in  his  first  crude  form,  and  in  their  synagogues 
daily  remind  him  of  his  former  obscure,  merely 
national  rank.  Perhaps  the  Lord  dislikes  to  be 
reminded  of  his  humble  origin  in  Palestine,  and 


96 


FROM  THE   MEMOIRS   OF 


tliat  he  was  once  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob,  and  was  formerly  called  Jehovah. 

*  *  *  Durinf^  my  stay  in  Leyden  I  spent 
much  time  in  the  society  of  little  Simson.  One 
of  his  peculiarities  was  that  he  could  not  endure 
that  the  least  article  in  his  room  should  be  dis- 
placed :  he  became  visibly  fidgety  when  one  took 
the  veriest  trifle  in  hand,  were  it  only  a  pair  of 
snuffers.  Everything  must  remain  just  as  it  lay,  for 
his  furniture  and  other  effects  served  him  as  helps, 
according  to  the  rules  of  mnemonics,  to  fix  in 
memory  all  sorts  of  historical  dates  or  philosoph- 
ical propositions.  When  once,  during  his  absence, 
the  chambermaid  removed  an  old  chest,  and  took 
his  shirts  and  stockings  from  the  bureau  and  sent 
them  to  the  wash,  he  was  inconsolable  on  his  re- 
turn, and  asserted  that  now  he  knew  nothing  more 
of  Assyrian  history,  and  that  all  his  evidences  for 
the  immprtality  of  the  soul,  which  he  had  so  care- 
fully and  systematically  arranged  in  the  various 
bureau-drawers,  were  now  in  the  wash. 

*  *  *  The  proprietor  of  my  lodging-house 
was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  with  pale,  emaciated 
features,  and  very  small,  green  eyes,  with  which 
he  was  continually  blinking,  like  a  sentinel  with 
the  sun  shining  in  his  eyes.  His  wife  was  a  tall, 
gaunt  woman,  nothing  but  skin  and  bones.  He 
was  a  cobbler  by  trade,  and  a  Baptist  by  faith.  He 
read  the  Bible  diligently.     These  readings  inter- 


HERK    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


97 


wove  themselves  into  his  dreams,  and  at  breakfast 
he  would  relate  to  his  wife  how  the  most  eminent 
and  pious  personages  of  the  Bible  had  honored 
him  with  their  conversation,  and  how  all  the 
women  of  the  Old  Testament  had  lavished  the 
most  friendly  and  tender  attentions  on  him.  The 
latter  circumstance  did  not  altogether  please  his 
wife,  and  not  unfrequently  did  she  betray  her 
jealousy  of  her  husband's  nightly  meetings  with 
the  women  of  the  Old  Testament.  "  If,"  said  she, 
"  it  were  only  the  chaste  Virgin  Mary,  or  old 
Martha,  or  even  Mary  Magdalene,  who  they  say 
has  reformed ; — but  the  sottish  daughters  of  old 
Lot,  and  fine  Madam  Judith,  and  the  strolling 
Queen  of  Sheba, — such  dubious  creatures  are  not 
to  be  tolerated." 

But  her  fury  was  at  its  climax  when  one  morn- 
ing her  husband,  in  the  garrulousness  of  his 
ecstasy,  gave  an  enthusiastic  description  of  the 
beautiful  Esther,  who  had  requested  him  to  assist 
at  her  toilet,  so  that  through  the  power  of  her 
charms  she  might  win  King  Ahasuerus  over  to 
the  good  cause.  In  vain  the  poor  man  assured 
her  that  Mordecai  himself  had  introduced  him  to 
his  lovely  foster-daughter,  and  that  the  latter's 
toilet  was  already  nearly  complete,  and  that  he 
had  only  combed  her  long  raven  tresses ;  in  vain. 
The  infuriated  woman  beat  him  with  his  leathern 
strap,  and  dashed  the  hot  coffee  in  his  face,  and 

9^ 


98 


FROM   THE  MEMOIRS   OF 


would  most  assuredly  have  put  an  end  to  him, 
had  he  not  faithfully  promised  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  the  women  of  the  Old  Testament, 
and  in  future  to  converse  only  with  the  patriarchs 
and  the  male  prophets. 

The  consequence  of  this  maltreatment  was  that 
thereafter  Myn  Heer  carefully  concealed  his  dreamy 
bliss ;  he  became  now  a  pious  roue.  As  he  him- 
self confessed  to  me,  he  had  the  temerity  to  dream 
himself  into  the  harem  of  King  Solomon  and  to 
drink  tea  with  his  thousand  wives. 

*  *  *  What  is  a  dream  ?  What  is  death  ? 
Is  the  latter  merely  an  interruption  of  life  ?  or  is 
it  total  extinction  ?  For  those  who  only  know  a 
past  and  a  future,  and  who  cannot  live  an  eternity 
in  every  moment  of  the  present, — for  such,  death 
must  be  terrible.  WHien  the  two  crutches,  Time 
and  Space,  slip  from  their  grasp,  then  they  sink 
into  the  eternal  Nothing. 

And  dreams  ?  Why  do  we  not  fear  falling  asleep 
more  than  being  buried?  Is  it  not  frightful  that 
during  a  whole  night  the  body  lies  stretched  dead 
as  a  corpse,  while  the  spirit  in  us  lives  a  most  varied 
life, — a  life  filled  with  all  the  terrors  of  that  separa- 
tion between  body  and  spirit  which  we  ourselves 
have  created  ?  When  once  in  the  future  both  are 
again  united  in  our  consciousness,  then  perhaps 
there  will  be  no  more  dreams,  or  only  invalids, 
whose  harmony  has  been  destroyed,  will  dream. 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


99 


The  ancients  dreamed  lightly  and  but  little ; 
a  profound,  vivid  dream  was  regarded  by  them 
as  a  memorable  event,  and  was  recorded  in  the 
books  of  history.  Real  dreaming  begins  only 
with  the  Jews,  a  spiritual  people,  and  reaches 
its  full  bloom  with  the  Christians,  a  people  of 
spirits.  Our  posterity  will  shudder  when  once 
they  read  what  a  ghostly  existence  we  have  led, 
and  how  the  human  nature  in  us  was  divided  and 
only  the  one-half  really  lived.  Our  era — and  it 
begins  at  the  cross  of  Christ — will  sometime  be 
regarded  as  humanity's  great  hypochondriacal 
period. 

And  yet  what  sweet  dreams  have  we  not 
dreamed  !  Our  healthy  descendants  will  scarcely 
be  able  to  comprehend  it.  From  around  us  van- 
ished all  the  splendors  of  the  universe,  and  we 
found  them  again  in  our  inmost  consciousness  ; 
the  fracrrance  of  the  crushed  rose  and  the  sweetest 
songs  of  the  affrighted  nightingale  have  fled  for 
refuge  into  our  souls. 

When  at  night  I  disrobe,  and  stretch  myself  in 
bed,  and  cover  myself  with  the  white  sheet,  I 
sometimes  involuntarily  shudder,  and  the  thought 
flashes  o'er  me  that  I  am  dead,  and  am  burying 
myself  Then  I  hastily  close  my  eyes,  to  escape 
the  horrible  thought  and  to  seek  refuge  in  dream- 
land. 

*  *  *  What   strange    creatures    are    mankind ! 


100  FROM   THE  MEMOIRS   OF 

hovvstrange  their  lives!  how  tragic  their  fate!  They 
love  one  another,  and  most  times  they  may  not  say 
it,  and  even  if  they  did  say  it  they  would  seldom 
understand  each  other.  And  yet  they  do  not  liv^e 
forever;  they  are  mortal;  only  a  short  space  of 
time  is  vouchsafed  them  in  which  to  seek  happi- 
ness ;  they  must  snatch  it  quickly,  and  press  it 
hastily  to  their  hearts  ere  it  flies:  hence  are  their 
love-songs  so  tender,  so  fervent,  so  sweetly  timid, 
so  despairingly  merry,  a  strange  mixture  of  glad- 
ness and  sorrow.  The  thought  of  death  casts  its 
melancholy  shadow  over  their  happiest  hours, 
and  consoles  them  tenderly  in  misfortune.  They 
can  weep !  what  poetry  is  contained  in  a  human 
tear! 

*  *  *  The  shrill  voice  of  the  landlord's  wife 
roused  me  from  my  slumbers.  Without  knowing 
what  she  wanted,  half  asleep,  I  followed  her  to  the 
sleeping-apartment  of  her  husband,  and  there  lay 
the  poor  man,  his  night-cap  drawn  over  his  eyes, 
dreaming  heavily.  A  smile  was  on  his  lips,  and 
he  stammered,  "  Vashti !  Queen  Vashti !  fear  not 
Ahasuerus,  beloved  Vashti !" 

With  fury  in  her  eye,  the  enraged  woman  whis- 
pered to  me,  "Arc  you  now  convinced,  Ilerr 
Schnabelewopski  ?  He  carries  on  love-intrigues 
with  Queen  Vashti.  He  prefers  even  a  heathen  to 
me  ;  but  I  am  a  wife  and  a  Christian,  and  you  shall 
see  how  I  avenge  myself" 


HERR    VON  SCHNAbELEiVO'PS'KL  jqI 

With  these  words  she  snatched  the  bedclothes 
from  her  husband,  and  began  to  lash  him  most 
unmercifully  with  a  leathern  thong.  He,  so  sud- 
denly and  disagreeably  awakened  from  his  Biblical 
dream,  shouted  as  loudly  as  if  Susa  were  in  flames 
or  Holland  in  water,  so  that  the  neighborhood 
was  soon  in  an  uproar.  The  next  day  it  was 
rumored  throughout  all  Leyden  that  the  landlord 
had  found  me  at  dead  of  night  in  company  of  his 
wife. 

Abominable  jealousy !  through  it  one  of  my 
most  pleasant  dreams  was  interrupted,  and  the  life 
of  little  Simson  jeopardized. 

Had  the  landlady  of  "  The  Red  Cow"  been  an 
Italian,  she  would  probably  have  poisoned  my  food ; 
but,  being  a  Hollanderess,  she  only  sent  me  most 
wretched  food.  Already  the  very  next  day  did  we 
suffer  the  consequences  of  her  woman's  anger. 
The  first  dish  was — no  soup.  This  was  dreadful, 
especially  to  a  well-bred  person  like  myself,  who 
had  been  accustomed  from  youth  to  eat  soup  every 
day,  and  who,  until  now,  could  not  imagine  a 
world  where  in  the  morning  the  sun  does  not  rise 
in  its  course  and  where  at  noon  soup  is  not  served 
in  its  course.  The  second  dish  consisted  of  beef, 
which  was  as  cold  and  tough  as  Myron's  cow. 
Next  came  a  fish,  of  which  the  less  said  the  better. 
Last  came  a  large  fowl,  which,  far  removed  from 
stilling  hunger,  looked  lean  and  emaciated,  as  if  it 


102 


LRGM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 


was  itself  hungry,  so  that  out  of  compassion  for  it 
we  could  not  eat  a  bite. 

"  And  now,  little  Simson,"  cried  fat  Drickscn, 
"do  you  still  believe  in  a  God?  Is  this  justice? 
The  landlord's  wife  visits  Schnabelewopski  at  dead 
of  night,  and  here  in  broad  daylight  we  must  suffer 
for  it." 

"  Oh,  God !  oh,  God !"  sighed  the  little  one,  vexed 
at  such  atheistic  outbreaks,  and  perhaps  also  at  the 
dinner.  Embittered  by  such  quizzing,  he  launched 
into  an  enthusiastic  defense  of  deism,  concluding 
as  follows :  "  What  the  sun  is  to  the  flowers, 
that  is  God  to  humanity.  When  the  rays  of  that 
heavenly  luminary  touch  the  flowers,  they  merrily 
shoot  upwards,  and  open  their  petals  and  unfold 
their  most  varied  and  most  beautiful  colors.  At 
night,  when  their  sun  has  departed,  they  stand 
sorrowfully,  with  closed  petals,  sleeping,  or  dream- 
ing of  the  kisses  of  those  golden  rays.  Those 
flowers  that  stand  always  in  the  shade  become 
stunted  in  growth,  colorless,  and  deformed,  and 
fade  away,  cheerless  and  unhappy.  But  those 
flowers  which  vegetate  in  darkness,  in  old  sub- 
terranean dungeons  and  convent  ruins,  become 
hideous  and  poisonous;  they  creep  on  the  earth 
like  serpents,  and  their  breath  is " 

"  You  need  not  spin  out  your  Biblical  parables 
any  further,"  cried  Drickscn.  "You,  little  Simson, 
arc  a  pious  flower  basking  in  the  divine  sunshine 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


103 


and  drinking  in  the  holy  rays  of  virtue  and  love, 
till  your  soul  is  as  radiant  as  a  rainbow;  whereas 
we,  who  are  turned  away  from  God,  fade  color- 
less and  hideous,  perhaps  even  spread  pestilential 
vapors." 

"  At  Frankfort  I  once  saw  a  clock,"  said  little 
Simson,  "  that  did  not  believe  in  a  clock-maker. 
It  was  made  of  pinchbeck,  and  kept  time  wretch- 
edly." 

**  I  will  show  you  that  such  a  clock  can  at  least 
strike,"  answered  Dricksen,  threateningly. 

And  thus  one  word  brought  on  another,  finally 
causing  a  duel,  in  which  little  Simson  received  a 
dangerous  wound. 

This  sad  scene  agitated  me  deeply.  But  my 
whole  fury  was  turned  against  the  woman  who 
was  indirectly  the  cause  of  the  calamity.  With 
my  heart  full  of  rage  and  grief,  I  stormed  in  upon 
the  landlady  of  **  The  Red  Cow." 

"  Monster !  why  didst  thou  send  no  soup  ?" 
These  were  the  words  with  which  I  greeted  my 
landlady  the  moment  I  met  her  in  the  kitchen. 
She  turned  pale  ;  even  the  porcelain  on  the  mantel- 
piece trembled  at  the  tones  of  my  voice.  I  was  as 
fierce  as  man  can  only  be  when  he  has  missed  his 
daily  soup  and  his  best  friend  has  received  a  thrust 
in  the  lung. 

'*  Monster !  why  didst  thou  send  no  soup  ?"  I 
repeated,  in  thunder  tones,  while  the  woman,  con- 


104  FROM   THE   MEMOIRS   OF 

scious  of  her  guilt,  stood  speechless  and  motion- 
less before  me.  But  finally  the  tears  streamed 
from  her  eyes,  as  from  open  flood-gates.  But  even 
this  sight  could  not  assuage  my  wrath,  and  with 
increased  bitterness  I  spoke :  "  O  ye  women !  I 
know  that  ye  can  weep;  but  tears  are  not  soup.  Ye 
are  created  for  our  injury;  your  glance  is  false- 
hood, and  your  breath  is  deception.  Who  first  ate 
the  apple  that  brought  sin  into  the  world?  It  is 
true  that  geese  saved  the  Capitol ;  but  a  woman 
caused  the  destruction  of  Troy.  O  Troy!  Troy! 
ye  sacred  strongholds  of  Priam!  ye  fell  through 
the  fault  of  a  woman.  Who  led  Mark  Antony  to 
his  ruin  ?  Who  demanded  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist  ?  Who  was  the  cause  of  Abelard's  misfor- 
tunes ?  A  woman.  History  is  full  of  examples 
how  ye  have  undone  us.  All  ye  do  is  folly,  all 
ye  think  is  ingratitude.  We  give  you  our  best, — 
the  holiest  flame  of  our  hearts, — our  love.  What 
do  ye  give  us  in  return  ?  Meat,  wretched  beef, 
and  still  more  wretched  fowl.  Monster,  why  didst 
thou  send  no  soup?" 

In  vain  did  Myn  Frow  stammer  forth  excuses ; 
in  vain  did  she  conjure  me  by  our  past  love  to 
forgive  her  this  once.  She  promised  henceforth 
to  send  better  food  and  still  charge  only  six 
florins,  notwithstanding  that  the  landlord  of"  The 
Jackdaw"  asks  eight  florins  for  his  ordinary  fare. 
She  went  so  far  as  to  promise  me  oystcr-patty  for 


I 


HERR    VON  SCHNABELEVVOPSKl. 


105 


the  following  day ;  yea,  verily,  in  the  tender  tones 
of  her  voice  methought  I  heard  the  fragrant  word 
''truffles." 

But  I  remained  steadfast ;  I  was  determined  to 
break  with  her  forever,  and  left  the  kitchen  with 
the  tragic  words,  "  Adieu !  in  this  life  you  shall 
cook  for  me  no  more." 


FROM  THE  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION  OF 
"THE  HISTORY  OF  RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY 
IN  GERMANY." 

*  *  *  The  book  which  lies  before  you  is  a 
fragment,  and  shall  remain  a  fragment.  To  be 
candid,  I  would  prefer  to  leave  the  book  wholly 
unprinted;  for  since  its  first  publication  my  views 
concerning  many  subjects,  particularly  those  which 
relate  to  religious  questions,  have  undergone  a 
marked  change,  and  much  that  I  then  asserted  is 
now  in  opposition  to  my  better  convictions.  But 
the  arrow  belongs  not  to  the  archer  when  once  it 
has  left  the  bow,  and  the  word  no  longer  belongs 
to  the  speaker  when  once  it  has  passed  his  lips, 
especially  when  it  has  been  multiplied  by  the 
press. 

*  *  *  At  that  time  I  was  yet  well  and  hearty ; 
I  was  in  the  zenith  of  my  prime,  and  as  arrogant 
as  Nebuchadnezzar  before  his  downfall. 

Alas  !  a  few  years  later,  a  physical  and  spiritual 
change  occurred.  How  often  since  then  have  I 
mused  over  the  history  of  that  Babylonian  king 
who  thought  himself  a  god,  but  who  was  miserably 
hurled  from  the  summit  of  his  self-conceit,  and 
compelled  to  crawl  on  the  earth  like  a  beast,  and 

lOO 


RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


107 


to  eat  grass  (probably  it  was  only  salad).  This 
legend  is  contained  in  the  grand  and  magnificent 
book  of  Daniel ;  and  I  recommend  all  godless 
self- worshipers  to  lay  it  devoutly  to  heart.  There 
are,  in  fact,  in  the  Bible  many  other  beautiful  and 
wonderful  narrations,  well  deserving  their  con- 
sideration ;  for  instance,  the  story  of  the  forbidden 
fruit  in  Paradise,  and  the  serpent  which  already 
six  thousand  years  before  Hegel's  birth  promul- 
gated the  whole  Hegelian  philosophy.  This 
footless  blue-stocking  demonstrates  very  saga- 
ciously how  the  absolute  consists  in  the  identity  of 
being  and  consciousness ;  how  man  becomes  God 
through  knowledge,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing",  how  God  arrives  at  the  consciousness  of 
himself  through  man.  To  be  sure,  this  formality 
is  not  so  clear  as  in  the  original  words :  "  If  ye 
eat  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  ye  shall  be  as  gods, 
knowing  good  and  evil."  Dame  Eve  understood 
of  the  whole  demonstration  only  this, — that  the 
fruit  was  forbidden ;  and  because  it  was  forbidden 
she  ate  of  it.  But  no  sooner  had  she  eaten  of  the 
tempting  apple  than  she  lost  her  innocence,  her 
naive  guilelessness,  and  discovered  that  she  was 
far  too  scantily  dressed  for  a  person  of  her  quality, 
the  mother  of  so  many  future  kings  and  em- 
perors, and  she  asked  for  a  dress, — truly,  only  a 
dress  of  fig-leaves,  because  at  that  time  there  were 
as  yet  no  Lyons  silk  fabrics  in  existence,  and  be- 


I08  ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

cause  there  were  in  Paradise  no  dressmakers  or 
milliners.  Oh,  Paradise!  How  strange  that  as 
soon  as  a  woman  arrives  at  self-consciousness  her 
first  thought  is  of — a  new  dress ! 

*  *  *  Officious,  pious  Christian  souls  seem 
very  anxious  to  know  how  my  conversion  was 
brought  about,  and  seem  desirous  that  I  should 
impose  upon  them  an  account  of  some  wonderful 
miracle.  With  true  Christian  importunity,  they 
inquire  if  I  did  not,  like  Saul,  behold  a  light 
while  on  the  way  to  Damascus ;  or  if,  like  Balaam 
the  son  of  Beor,  I  was  not  riding  a  restive  ass, 
which  suddenly  oped  its  mouth  and  discoursed 
like  a  human  being.  No,  ye  credulous  souls,  I 
never  journeyed  to  Damascus.  Even  the  name 
would  be  unknown  to  me  had  I  not  read  an  ac- 
count in  "  Solomon's  Song,"  wherein  he  com- 
pares the  nose  of  his  beloved  to  a  tower,  pointing 
towards  Damascus.  Nor  have  I  ever  seen  an  ass 
— that  is,  no  four-footed  one — that  spoke  like  a 
human  being;  whereas  I  have  met  human  beings 
in  plenty  that  every  time  they  opened  their  mouths 
spoke  like  asses.  In  fact,  it  was  neither  a  vision, 
nor  a  seraphic  ecstasy,  nor  a  voice  from  heaven, 
nor  a  remarkable  dream,  nor  any  miraculous  ap- 
parition, that  brought  me  to  the  path  of  saK^ation. 
I  owe  my  enlightenment  simply  to  the  reading  of 
a  book !  one  book !  yea,  it  is  a  plain  old  book, 
as  modest  as  nature,  and  as  simple ;  a  book  that 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  iqq 

appears  as  workday-like  and  as  unpretentious  as 
the  sun  that  warms,  as  the  bread  that  nourishes 
us ;  a  book  that  looks  on  us  as  kindly  and  be- 
nignly as  an  old  grandmother,  who,  with  her  dear 
tremulous  lips,  and  spectacles  on  nose,  reads  in  it 
daily:  this  book  is  briefly  called  tlie  book, — the 
Bible.  With  good  reason  it  is  also  called  the 
Holy  Scriptures :  he  that  has  lost  his  God  can  find 
him  again  in  this  book,  and  towards  him  who  has 
never  known  him  it  wafts  the  breath  of  the  divine 
word.  The  Jews,  who  are  connoisseurs  of  precious 
things,  well  knew  what  they  were  about  when,  at 
the  burning  of  the  second  temple,  they  left  in  the 
lurch  the  gold  and  silver  sacrificial  vessels,  the 
candlesticks  and  lamps,  and  even  the  richly-jeweled 
breast-plate  of  the  high-priest,  to  rescue  only  the 
Bible. 


lO* 


ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  RF.LIGION  AND 
PHILOSOPHY   IN   GERMANY.* 


*  *  *  Distinguished  German  philosophers  who 
may  accidentally  cast  a  glance  over  these  pages 
will  superciliously  shrug  their  shoulders  at  the 
meagreness  and  incompleteness  of  all  that  which 
I  here  offer.  But  they  will  be  kind  enough  to  bear 
in  mind  that  the  little  which  I  say  is  expressed 
clearly  and  intelligibly,  whereas  their  own  works, 
although  very  profound,  unfathomably  profound, 
— very  deep,  stupendously  deep, — are  in  the  same 
degree  unintelligible.  Of  what  benefit  to  the 
people  is  the  grain  locked  away  in  the  granaries 
to  which  they  have  no  key?  The  masses  are 
famishing  for  knowledge,  and  will  thank  me  for 
the  portion  of  intellectual  bread,  small  though  it 
be,  which  I  honestly  share  with  them.  I  believe 
it  is  not  lack  of  ability  that  holds  back  the  ma- 
jority of  German  scholars  from  discussing  religion 
and  philosophy  in  popular  language.     I  believe  it 

*  This  work  was  originally  published  in  France. 
no 


RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.   1 1  j 

is  a  fear  of  the  results  of  their  own  studies,  which 
they  dare  not  communicate  to  the  masses.  I  do, 
not  share  this  fear,  for  I  am  not  a  learned  scholar,/ 
I,  myself,  am  of  the  people.  I  am  not  one  of  the 
seven  hundred  wise  men  of  Germany.  I  stand  with 
the  great  masses  at  the  portals  of  their  wisdom. 
And  if  a  truth  slips  through,  and  if  this  truth  falls 
in  my  way,  then  I  write  it  with  pretty  letters  on 
paper,  and  give  it  to  the  compositor,  who  sets  it 
in  leaden  type  and  gives  it  to  the  printer;  the  latter 
prints  it,  and  then  it  belongs  to  the  whole  world. 

The  religion  of  Germany  is  Christianity.  There- 
fore I  shall  have  to  relate  what  Christianity  is,  how 
it  became  Roman  Catholicism,  how  out  of  this 
sprang  Protestantism,  and  out  of  the  latter  German 
philosophy.  Inasmuch  as  I  am  about  to  speak  of 
religion,  I  beg  beforehand  of  all  pious  souls  not 
to  be  uneasy.  Fear  naught,  ye  pious  ones !  No 
profane  witticisms  shall  offend  your  ears.  It  is 
true  that  these  are  yet  necessary  in  Germany, 
where,  at  this  juncture,  it  is  important  to  neutralize 
ecclesiastical  power.  For  there  we  are  now  in  the 
same  situation  that  you  in  France  were  before  the 
Revolution,  when  Christianity  was  yet  in  the  closest 
union  with  the  old  regime.  The  latter  could  not 
be  overthrown  so  long  as  the  former  maintained 
its  sway  over  the  masses.  Voltaire's  keen  ridicule 
was  needed  ere  Samson  could  let  his  ax  descend. 
But  neither  the  ridicule  nor  the  ax  proved  any- 


112  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

thing;  they  only  effected  something.  Voltaire 
could  only  wound  the  body  of  Christianity.  All 
his  jests  gathered  from  the  annals  of  the  Church, 
all  his  witticisms  against  the  doctrines  and  public 
worship  of  the  Church,  against  the  Bible,  this 
holiest  book  of  humanity,  against  the  Virgin  Mary, 
that  loveliest  flower  of  poesy,  the  whole  encyclo- 
paedia of  philosophical  shafts  which  he  launched 
against  the  clergy  and  priesthood,  wounded  only 
the  outward,  mortal  body  of  Christianity,  not  its 
inner  being,  not  its  profound  spirit,  not  its  eternal 
soul. 

For  Christianity  is  an  idea,  and  as  such  is  inde- 
structible and  immortal,  like  every  idea.  But  what 
is  this  idea? 

Just  because  this  idea  has  not  yet  been  clearly 
comprehended,  and  because  the  essential  has  been 
mistaken  for  the  fundamental,  there  is  as  yet  no 
history  of  the  Church.  Two  antagonistic  factions 
write  the  history  of  the  Church,  and  contradict 
each  other  incessantly.  But  the  one  as  little  as 
the  other  will  ever  distinctly  state  what  that  idea 
really  is  which  is  the  underlying  principle  of  Chris- 
tianity, of  its  symbolism,  of  its  dogma,  of  its  public 
worship,  and  which  strives  to  reveal  itself  through- 
out its  whole  history,  and  has  manifested  itself  in 
the  actual  life  of  Christian  nations. 

*  *  *  Mow  this  idea  was  historically  evolved, 
and  disclosed  itself  in  the  world  of  phenomena, 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  113 

may  be  discovered  as  early  as  the  first  centuries 
after  the  birth  of  Christ,  if  we  study  impartially 
the  history  of  the  Manicheans  and  the  Gnostics. 
Although  the  first  were  branded  as  heretics,  and 
the  latter  defamed,  and  both  anathematized,  by  the 
Church,  yet  their  influence  on  the  doctrines  of 
the  Church  was  lasting.  Out  of  their  symbolism, 
Catholic  art  was  developed,  and  their  modes  of 
thought  penetrated  the  whole  life  of  Christendom. 
The  First  Cause  of  the  Manicheans  does  not  differ 
much  from  that  of  the  Gnostics.  The  doctrine  of 
the  two  principles,  the  good  and  the  evil,  constantly 
opposing  each  other,  is  common  to  both.  The 
Manicheans  derived  this  doctrine  from  the  ancient 
Persian  religion,  in  which  Ormuz,  the  light,  is  at 
enmity  with  Ahriman,  the  darkness.  The  others, 
the  real  Gnostics,  believed  in  the  pre-existence  of 
the  good  principle,  and  accounted  for  the  rise  of 
the  evil  through  emanation,  through  the  genera- 
tion of  ^ons,  which,  the  farther  they  are  removed 
from  their  origin,  the  more  vicious  and  evil  do 
they  become. 

*  *  *  This  Gnostic  theory  of  the  universe  origi- 
nated in  ancient  India,  and  brought  with  it  the 
doctrine  of  the  incarnation  of  God,  of  the  morti- 
fication of  the  flesh,  of  spiritual  introspection  and 
self-absorption.  It  gave  birth  to  the  ascetic,  con- 
templative, monkish  life,  which  is  the  most  logical 
outgrowth  of  the  Christian  principle.     This  prin- 


114 


ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


\ 


ciple  has  become  entangled  among  the  dogmas  of 
the  Church,  and  has  been  able  to  express  itself  but 
very  obscurely  in  the  public  worship.  But  every- 
where we  find  the  doctrine  of  the  two  principles 
prominent;  the  wicked  Satan  is  always  contrasted 
with  the  good  Christ.  Christ  represents  the  spir- 
itual world,  Satan  the  material ;  to  the  former  be- 
long our  souls,  to  the  latter  our  bodies.  Accord- 
ingly, the  whole  visible  world,  which  constitutes 
nature,  is  originally  evil,  and  Satan,  the  prince 
of  darkness,  through  it  seeks  to  lure  us  to  ruin. 
Therefore  it  behooves  us  to  renounce  all  the  sen- 
suous joys  of  life,  to  torture  the  body,  which  is 
Satan's  portion,  in  order  that  the  soul  may  the 
more  majestically  soar  aloft  to  the  bright  heavens, 
to  the  radiant  kingdom  of  Christ. 
'  This  theory  of  the  universe,  which  is  the  true, 
(  fundamental  idea  of  Christianity,  spread  itself 
with  incredible  rapidity,  like  a  contagious  dis- 
I  ease,  over  the  whole  Roman  empire.  These  suf- 
ferings, at  times  strung  to  fever-pitch,  then  again 
relaxing  into  exhaustion,  lasted  all  through  the 
Middle  Ages;  and  we  moderns  still  feel  in  our 
limbs  those  convulsions  and  that  debility.  And 
if  among  us,  here  and  there,  there  be  one  who  is 
already  convalescent,  he  cannot  flee  from  the  uni- 
versal hospital,  and  feels  himself  unhappy  as  the 
only  healthy  person  among  invalids. 

When  once  mankind  shall  have  recovered  its 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


115 


perfect  life,  when  peace  shall  again  be  restored 
between  body  and  soul,  and  they  shall  again  inter- 
penetrate each  other  with  their  original  haimony, 
then  it  will  be  scarcely  possible  to  comprehend 
the  factitious  feud  which  Christianity  has  insti- 
gated between  them.  Happier  and  more  perfect 
generations,  begot  in  free  and  voluntary  embraces, 
blossoming  forth  in  a  religion  of  joy,  will  then 
smile  sadly  at  their  poor  ancestors,  who  held  them- 
selves gloomily  aloof  from  all  the  pleasures  of 
this  beautiful  world,  and  through  the  deadening 
of  a  warm,  cheerful  sensuousness  almost  paled 
into  cold  spectres.  Yes,  I  say  it  confidently,  our 
descendants  will.be  more  beautiful,  more  happy, 
than  we  ;  for  I  have  faith  in  progress ;  mankind  is 
destined  to  be  happy,  and  I  have  a  more  favorable 
opinion  of  the  Divinity  than  those  pious  souls  who 
imagine  that  He  created  mankind  only  to  suffer. 
Already  here  on  earth,  through  the  blessings  of 
free  political  and  industrial  institutions,  would  I 
seek  to  found  that  millennium  which,  according  to 
the  belief  of  the  pious,  is  not  to  be  until  the  day 
of  judgment.  The  one  is  perhaps  as  visionary  a 
hope  as  the  other,  and  possibly  there  will  be  no 
resurrection  of  humanity,  either  in  the  politico- 
moral  or  in  the  apostolic-Catholic  sense. 

Perhaps  mankind  is  doomed  to  eternal  misery:^\^ 
the  masses  are  perhaps  condemned  to  be  forever 
trodden  undej^jbot  by  despots,  to  be  plundered  by 


Il6  ON  THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

their  accomplices,  and  to  be  jeered  at  by  their 
lackeys. 

Alas !  in  that  case  we  must  seek  to  maintain 
Christianity,  even  if  we  recognize  it  to  be  an  error. 
Barefoot,  and  clad  in  monkish  cowls,  we  must  trav- 
erse Europe,  preaching  the  vanity  of  all  earthly 
good,  and  inculcating  resignation.  We  must  hold 
up  the  consoling  crucifix  before  scourged  and  de- 
rided humanity,  and  promise,  after  death,  all  the 
seven  heavens  above. 

*  *  *  The  final  fate  of  Christianity  is  dependent 
upon  our  need  of  it.  This  religion  has  for  eigh- 
teen centuries  been  a  blessing  to  suffering  human- 
ity: it  was  providential,  divine,  holy.  All  that  it 
has  benefited  civilization  by  taming  the  strong  and 
strengthening  the  weak,  by  uniting  the  nations 
through  like  emotions  and  a  like  language,  by  all 
that  its  panegyrists  extol, — all  these  are  insignifi- 
cant in  comparison  with  that  great  consolation 
which  in  itself  it  bestowed  upon  mankind.  Eter- 
nal praise  is  due  to  that  symbol  of  a  suffering  God, 
the  Saviour  with  the  crown  of  thorns,  the  Christ 
crucified,  whose  blood  was  a  soothing  balsam 
dripping  into  humanity's  wounds.  The  poet,  in 
particular,  will  reverently  recognize  the  solemn 
grandeur  of  that  symbol.  The  whole  system  of 
allegory,  as  expressed  in  the  life  and  art  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  will  in  all  times  excite  the  admira- 
tion of  poets.     What  colossal   consistency  in  tJie 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  j  jn 

Christian  art! — that  is,  in  architecture  !  How  har- 
moniously those  Gothic  cathedrals  are  adapted  to 
the  religious  services  of  the  Church,  and  how  the 
fundamental  idea  of  the  Church  itself  is  revealed 
in  them !  Everything  towers  upward ;  everything 
transubstantiates  itself;  the  stone  blossoms  into 
branches  and  foliage  and  becomes  a  tree ;  the 
fruits  of  the  vine  and  of  the  wheat-stalk  become 
blood  and  flesh  ;  man  becomes  God,  and  God 
becomes  a  pure,  abstract  spirit.  The  Christian 
life  during  the  Middle  Ages  is  for  the  poet  a  rich, 
inexhaustible  store-house  of  precious  materials. 
Only  through  Christianity  could,  in  this  world, 
such  varied  phases  arise, — contrasts  so  striking, 
sorrows  so  diverse,  beauties  so  strange,  that  one 
is  inclined  to  believe  that  they  never  did  exist  in 
reality,  and  that  all  was  but  a  colossal  fever-dream, 
a  delirious  fantasy  of  an  insane  God.  Nature 
herself  appeared  in  those  times  fantastically  dis- 
guised ;  but  notwithstanding  that  man,  occupied 
with  abstract  metaphysical  speculations,  turned 
peevishly  away  from  her,  yet  at  times  she  awoke 
him  with  a  voice  so  solemnly  sweet,  so  deliciously 
terrible,  so  enchanting,  that  he  involuntarily  lis- 
tened and  smiled,  then  shrank  back  with  terror, 
and  sickened  even  unto  death.  The  story  of  the 
nightingale  of  Basle  here  comes  to  my  mind,  and, 
as  it  is  probably  unknown  to  you,  I  will  relate  it. 
In  May,  1433,  at  the  time  of  the  Ecumenical 
II 


Il8  ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

Council,  a  party  of  ecclesiastics,  prelates,  learned 
scholars,  and  monks  of  every  shade,  took  a  walk 
in  a  grove  near  Basle,  wrangling  over  theological 
disputations,  drawing  hair-splitting  distinctions,  or 
arguing  concerning  the  annats,  the  expectatives, 
and  the  reservations,  debating  whether  Thomas  of 
Aquinas  was  a  greater  philosopher  than  Bonaven- 
tura,  and  what  not !  But  suddenly,  in  the  midst 
of  their  abstract  and  dogmatical  discussions  they 
paused,  transfixed,  before  a  blooming  linden-tree, 
on  which  sat  a  nightingale,  trilling  and  trolling  the 
sweetest  and  tenderest  strains.  The  learned  men 
were  ravished  with  delight.  The  glowing  melo- 
dies of  spring  penetrated  to  their  scholastic,  musty, 
book-worm  hearts,  their  souls  awoke  from  the 
mouldy,  wintry  sleep,  they  looked  at  one  another 
in  astonished  ecstasy.  But  finally  one  of  them 
made  the  sagacious  remark  that  such  things  could 
not  come  of  good,  that  the  nightingale  might  be  a 
devil,  and  that  this  devil  might  be  seeking  through 
its  sweet  music  to  decoy  them  from  their  pious 
conversations  and  to  lure  them  to  voluptuousness 
and  similar  pleasant  sins  ;  and  then  he  began  to 
exorcise,  probably  with  the  usual  formula:  "Ad- 
juro  te  per  eum,  qui  venturus  est,  judicarc  \nvos 
ct  mortuos,"  etc.  It  is  said  that  at  this  conjura- 
tion the  bird  replied,  "Yes,  I  am  an  evil  spirit!" 
and  flew  away,  laughing.  But  those  who  heard  its 
song  sickened  that  very  day,  and  soon  after  died. 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


119 


This  legend  needs  no  commentary.  It  bears 
distinctly  the  horrible  impress  of  a  time  when  all 
that  was  sweet  and  lovely  was  denounced  as  dia- 
bolical. Even  the  nightingale  was  slandered,  and 
it  was  customary  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross 
when  she  sang.  The  pious  Christian,  like  an  ab- 
stract spectre,  walked  timorously,  with  closed  eyes, 
through  the  beauties  of  nature. 

*  *  *  As  regards  the  good  principle,  the  same 
conception  prevailed  over  all  the  Christian  coun- 
tries  of  Europe.  The  Roman  Catholic  Church 
took  care  of  that,  and  whoever  deviated  from  the 
prescribed  faith  was  a  heretic.  But  in  relation  to 
the  evil  principle  and  the  empire  of  Satan,  differ- 
ent views  were  held  in  different  countries,  and  the 
Germanic  North  had  quite  different  conceptions 
from  the  Latin  South.  This  was  caused  by  the 
fact  that  the  Christian  priesthood  did  not  reject 
the  previously  existing  national  gods  as  baseless 
fantasies  of  the  brain,  but  conceded  to  them  an 
actual  existence  ;  asserting,  however,  that  all  these 
gods  were  nothing  but  male  and  female  devils, 
who  through  the  victory  of  Christ  had  lost  their 
power  over  mankind,  and  now  sought  through 
wiles  and  stratagems  to  lure  them  to  sin.  All 
Olympus  was  now  transformed  into  an  airy  hell ; 
and  if  a  poet  of  the  Middle  Ages  sang  of  Grecian 
mythology  ever  so  beautifully,  the  pious  Christian 
would  persist  in  seeing  therein   only  devils  and 


I20  ^^   ^^^^   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

hobgoblins.  The  gloomy  fanaticism  of  the  monks 
alighted  with  special  severity  on  poor  Venus :  she 
was  considered  a  daughter  of  Beelzebub,  and  the 
good  knight  Tannhauser  tells  her  to  her  face, — 

"  O  Venus,  lovely  wife  of  mine. 
You  are  a  very  devil !" 

Tannhauser  had  been  enticed  by  her  into  that 
wondrous  mountain-cavern  called  the  Venusberg, 
where,  according  to  tradition,  dwelt  the  beautiful 
goddess  with  her  nymphs  and  her  paramours,  be- 
guiling the  hours  with  the  most  wanton  carousings 
and  dancing.  Even  poor  Diana  was  not  spared, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  previous  reputation  for 
chastity,  similar  scandals  were  fastened  on  her 
good  name.  It  was  said  that  she,  together  with 
her  nymphs,  indulged  in  nightly  rides  through  the 
forest:  hence  the  legend  of  a  strange  midnight 
chase  by  wild  and  furious  hunters.  This  legend 
reveals  clearly  the  then  pervading  Gnostic  theory 
of  the  degeneration  of  the  former  divinities.  In 
this  transmogrification  of  the  ancient  national  re- 
ligion the  uncferlying  principle  of  Christianity  is 
most  suggestively  indicated.  The  national  religion 
of  Europe,  which,  however,  prevailed  more  de- 
cidedly in  the  North  than  in  the  South,  was^antjie-^ 
ism.  All  the  mysteries  and  symbols  of  that  religion 
were  founded  on  and  had  reference  to  a  worship 
of  nature;  each  of  the  elements  was  regarded  as 


f 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  121 

the  embodiment  of  some  mysterious  being,  and  as 
such  was  revered  and  worshiped ;  in  every  tree 
dwelt  a  divinity,  and  all  nature  swarmed  with  gods 
and  goddesses.  Christianity  exactly  reversed  this, 
and  in  place  of  gods  it  substituted  devils  and  de- 
mons. The  cheerful  figures  of  Grecian  mythology, 
beautified  as  they  were  by  art,  had  taken  root  in 
the  South  along  with  Roman  civilization,  and  were 
not  so  easily  to  be  displaced  by  the  hideous,  weird, 
and  Satanic  divinities  of  the  German  North.  The 
latter  seem  to  have  been  fashioned  without  any 
particular  artistic  design,  and  even  before  the  ad- 
vent of  Christianity  they  were  as  sombre  and  as 
gloomy  as  the  North  itself  Hence  there  could 
not  arise  in  France  so  frightful  a  devildom  as  among 
us  in  Germany,  and  even  the  witchcraft  and  sorcery 
of  the  former  assumed  a  cheerful  guise.  How 
lovely,  fair,  and  picturesque  are  the  popular  super- 
stitions of  France  as  compared  with  the  bloody, 
hazy,  and  misshapen  monsters  which  loom  gloom- 
ily and  savagely  from  out  the  mists  of  German 
legendary  lore ! 

Those  German  poets  of  the  Middle  Ages  who 
chose  such  themes  as  had  originated  or  been  first 
treated  in  Brittany  and  Normandy  thereby  invested 
their  poems  with  somewhat  of  the  cheerfulness  of 
the  French  temperament.  But  the  old  Northern 
sombreness,  of  whose  gloom  we  can  now  scarcely 
form  any  idea,  exercised  full  sway  over  such  of  our 
II* 


122  0^  ^^^^   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

literature  as  was  distinctly  national,  and  over  such 
popular  traditions  as  have  been  orally  transmitted. 
The  superstitions  of  the  two  countries  offer  as 
striking  a  contrast  as  that  which  exists  between  a 
Frenchman  and  a  German.  The  supernatural  be- 
ings that  fifjure  in  old  French  romances  and  wonder- 
tales  are  bright  and  cheerful  creations,  and  remark- 
able for  a  cleanliness  which  is  noticeably  lacking 
in  our  filthy  rabble  of  German  hobgoblins.  French 
fairies  and  sprites  are  as  distinguishable  from  Ger- 
man spectres  as  a  spruce  and  daintily-gloved  dandy, 
jauntily  promenading  the  Boulevard  Coblence,  is 
different  from  a  burly  German  porter,  carrying  a 
heavy  load  upon  his  shoulders.  A  French  nixen, 
such  as  Melusina,  is  to  a  German  elf  as  a  princess 
to  a  washerwoman.  The  fairy  Morgana  Avould 
stand  aghast  at  sight  of  a  German  witch,  her  body 
naked  and  besmeared  with  salves  and  ointments, 
riding  on  a  broom-stick  to  the  Brocken.  The 
Brocken  is  no  merry  Avalon,  but  a  rendezvous  for 
all  that  is  weird  and  hideous.  On  the  vciy  summit 
of  the  mountain  sits  Satan,  in  the  shape  of  a  black 
goat.  The  infamous  sisterhood  form  a  circle  around 
him,  and  dance,  and  sing,  "  Donderemus !  Don- 
dcremus!"  Mingled  in  the  infernal  din  are  heard 
the  bleating  of  the  goat  and  the  shouting  of  the 
demoniac  crew.  If,  during  the  dance,  a  witch  hap- 
pens to  drop  a  shoe,  it  is  an  evil  omen,  and  portends 
that  she  will  be  burned  at  tlie  stake  ere  the  year 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


123 


ends.  But  all  the  terror  which  such  a  portent  in- 
spires is  forgotten  amid  the  wild  and  maddening 
Berlioz-like  music  of  the  witches'  sabbath  ;  and 
when  in  the  morning  the  poor  witch  awakens  from 
her  delirium,  she  finds  herself  lying,  stark  naked 
and  tired,  by  the  glimmering  embers  of  her  hearth. 
The  most  complete  account  of  witches  we  find 
in  the  learned  Dr.  Nicolai  Remigius's  "  Demon- 
ology."  This  sagacious  man  had  the  best  oppor- 
tunity to  learn  the  tricks  of  witches,  as  he  officiated 
at  their  trials,  and  during  his  time,  in  Lotharingia 
alone,  eight  hundred  women  were  burned  at  the 
stake,  after  trial  and  conviction.  The  trial  was  gen- 
erally as  follows.  Their  hands  and  feet  were  tied 
together,  and  then  they  were  thrown  into  the  water. 
If  they  went  under  and  were  drowned,  it  was  a  proof 
that  they  were  innocent;  but  if  they  floated  on  the 
surface,  they  were  recognized  as  guilty  and  burned. 
Such  was  the  logic  of  those  times. 

*  *  *  When  the  learned  Doctor  Remigius 
had  completed  his  great  work  on  witchcraft,  he 
deemed  himself  so  master  of  his  subject  as  to  be 
able  to  work  magic,  and,  conscientious  man  that 
he  was,  did  not  fail  to  accuse  himself  before  the 
courts  as  a  sorcerer ;  in  consequence  of  which  ac- 
cusation he  was  duly  burned. 

*  *  *  I  must  confess  that  Luther  did  not  un- 
derstand the  real  nature  of  Catholicism.  He  did 
not   comprehend    that    the  jundamental    idea    of 


124 


ON   THE   HISTORY   OF  RELIGION 


Christianity,  the  deadening  of  the  senses,  was  too 
antagonistic  to  human  nature  to  be  ever  entirely 
practicable  in  life  ;  he  did  not  comprehend  that 
I  Catholicism  was  a  concordat  between  God  and  the 
^;^ devil, — that  is  to  say,  between  the  spirit  and  the 
senses,  in  which  the  absolute  reign  of  the  spirit 
was  promulgated  in  theory,  but  in  which  the  senses 
were  nevertheless  practically  reinstated  in  the  en- 
joyment of  their  rights.  Hence  a  wise  system  of 
concessions  allowed  by  the  Church  to  the  senses, 
always,  however,  under  formalities  which  cast  a 
slur  on  every  act  of  the  senses,  and  maintained  the 
sham  usurpation  of  the  senses.  You  might  yield 
to  the  tender  impulses  of  your  heart  and  embrace 
a  pretty  girl,  but  you  must  confess  that  it  was  a 
flagrant  sin,  and  for  this  sin  you  must  make  atone- 
ment. That  this  atonement  might  be  made  with 
money  was  as  beneficial  to  humanity  as  useful  to 
the  Church.  The  Church  imposed  fines,  so  to  say, 
for  every  indulgence  of  the  flesh  :  hence  there 
arose  taxes  on  all  sorts  of  sins,  and  there  were 
pious  colporteurs  who,  in  the  name  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  hawked  for  sale  through  the  land 
absolutions  for  every  taxable  sin.  Such  a  one  was 
that  Tctzel  against  whom  Luther  first  entered  the 
field. 

*  *  *  Leo  of  Medici  must  have  smiled  at  the 
])oor,  chaste,  simple-minded  monk  who  imagined 
that  the  evangelic  gospels  were  the  chart  of  Chris- 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


125 


tianity,  and  that  this  chart  must  be  a  truth !  Per- 
haps he  never  comprehended  what  Luther  was 
aiming  at,  for  at  that  time  he  was  busily  occupied 
with  the  building  of  St.  Peter's  Cathedral,  the  cost 
of  which  was  defrayed  by  the  money  derived  from 
these  sales  of  absolutions,  so  that  sin  actually  fur- 
nished the  means  wherewith  to  build  this  church, 
which  became  thereby,  as  it  were,  a  monument  to 
the  lusts  of  the  flesh.  Of  this  house  of  God  it  per- 
haps might  be  said  more  truly  than  of  the  cathedral 
at  Cologne  that  it  was  built  by  the  devil.  This  tri- 
umph of  spiritualism,  compelling  sensualism  itself 
to  build  its  most  beautiful  temple,  this  reaping 
from  the  multitude,  by  concessions  made  to  the 
flesh,  the  means  wherewith  to  beautify  spiritualism, 
was  not  understood  in  the  German  North.  For 
there,  more  easily  than  under  the  burning  skies 
of  Italy,  was  it  possible  to  practice  a  Christianity 
that  should  make  the  fewest  concessions  to  the 
senses.  We  Northerners  are  cold-blooded,  and 
needed  not  so  many  price-lists  of  absolution  for 
sins  of  the  flesh  as  the  fatherly  Leo  sent  us.  The 
climate,  too,  makes  the  exercise  of  Christian  vir- 
tues easier  for  us;  and  when,  on  the  31st  of  Oc- 
tober, 1 5 16,  Luther  nailed  to  the  gate  of  the  St. 
Augustine  Church  his  thesis  against  indulgences, 
the  city  moat  of  Wittenburg  was,  perhaps,  already 
frozen  over  with  ice  thick  enough  for  skating,  which 
is  a  chilly  pleasure,  and  therefore  no  sin. 


126  ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

*  *  *  In  Germany  the  battle  against  Catholi- 
cism was  nothing  else  than  a  war  begun  by  spiritual- 
ism when  it  perceived  that  it  only  reigned  nominally 
and  de  jure ;  whereas  sensualism,  through  conven- 
tional subterfuges,  exercised  the  real  sovereignty 
and  ruled  dc  facto.  When  this  was  perceived,  the 
hawkers  of  indulgences  were  chased  off,  the  pretty 
concubines  of  the  priests  were  exchanged  for  plain 
but  honest  wedded  wives,  the  charming  Madonna 
pictures  were  demolished,  and  there  reigned  in 
certain  localities  a  puritanism  inimical  to  every 
gratification  of  the  senses. 

In  France,  on  the  contrary,  during  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  the  war  was  begun 
by  sensualism  against  Catholicism,  when  it  saw 
that  while  it,  sensualism,  reigned  dc  facto,  yet 
every  exercise  of  its  sovereignty  was  restrained  in 
the  most  aggravating  manner  by  spiritualism,  and 
stigmatized  as  illegitimate.  While  in  Germany 
the  battle  was  fought  with  chaste  earnestness,  in 
France  it  was  waged  with  licentious  witticisms; 
and  while  there  theological  disputations  were  in 
vogue,  here  merry  satires  were  the  fashion. 

*  *  *  Truly,  Jansenism  had  much  more  cause 
than  Jesuitism  to  feel  aggrieved  at  the  delineation 
of  Tartuffe,  and  Moliere  would  be  as  obnoxious 
to  the  Methodists  of  to-day  as  to  the  Catholic  devo- 
tees of  his  own  time.  It  is  just  because  of  this 
that  Moliere  is  so  great,  for,  like  Aristophanes  and 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN   GERMANY.  127 

Cervantes,  he  leveled  his  persiflage  not  only  at 
temporary  follies,  but  also  against  that  which  is 
ever  ridiculous, — the  inherent  frailties  of  mankind. 
Voltaire,  wh6  always  attacked  only  the  temporary 
and  the  unessential,  is  in  this  respect  inferior  to 
Moliere. 

*  *  *  Then  why  my  aversion  to  spiritualism  ? 
Is  it  something  so  evil  ?  By  no  means.  Attar  of 
roses  is  a  precious  article,  and  a  small  vial  of  it  is 
refreshing  when  one  is  doomed  to  pass  one's  days 
in  the  closely-locked  apartments  of  the  harem. 
But  yet  we  would  not  have  all  the  roses  of  life 
crushed  and  bruised  in  order  to  gain  a  few  drops 
of  the  attar  of  roses,  be  they  ever  so  consoling. 
We  are  like  the  nightingales,  that  delight  in  the 
rose  itself,  and  derive  as  delicious  a  pleasure  from 
the  sight  of  the  blushing,  blooming  flower  as  from 
its  invisible  fragrance. 

*  *  *  But  there  was  one  man  at  the  Diet  of 
Worms  who,  I  am  convinced,  thought  not  of  him- 
self, but  only  of  the  sacred  interests  which  he  was 
there  to  champion.  That  man  was  Martin  Luther, 
the  poor  monk  whom  Providence  had  selected  to 
shatter  the  world-controlling  power  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  against  which  the  mightiest  em- 
perors and  most  intrepid  scholars  had  striven  in 
vain.  But  Providence  knows  well  on  whose  shoul- 
ders to  impose  its  tasks:  here,  not  only  intellec- 
tual but  also  physical  strength  was  required.     It 


128  0:V   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

needed  a  body  steeled  from  youth  through  chastity 
and  monkish  discipline  to  bear  the  vexations  and 
laboriousness  of  such  an  office. 

*  *  *  Luther  was  not  only  the  greatest,  but  also 
the  most  thoroughly  German  hero  of  our  history. 
In  his  character  are  combined,  on  the  grandest 
scale,  all  the  virtues  and  all  the  faults  of  the  Ger- 
mans, so  that  he,  in  his  own  person,  was  the  repre- 
sentative of  that  wonderful  Germany.  For  he  pos- 
sessed qualities  which  we  seldom  find  united,  and 
which  even  we  usually  consider  to  be  irreconcilably 
antagonistic.  He  was  simultaneously  a  dreamy 
mystic  and  a  practical  man  of  action.  His  thoughts 
possessed  not  only  wings,  but  also  hands;  he  could 
speak  and  could  act.  He  was  not  only  the  tongue, 
but  also  the  sword  of  his  time.  He  was  both  a  cold, 
scholastic  word-caviler,  and  an  enthusiastic,  God- 
inspired  prophet.  When  during  the  day  he  had 
wearily  toiled  over  his  dogmatic  distinctions  and 
definitions,  then  in  the  evening  he  took  his  lute, 
looked  up  to  the  stars,  and  melted  into  melody 
and  devotion.  The  same  man  who  could  scold 
like  a  fish-wife  could  be  as  gentle  as  a  tender 
maiden.  At  times  he  was  fierce  as  the  storm  that 
uproots  oaks ;  and  then  again  he  was  mild  as  the 
zephyr  caressing  the  violets.  He  was  filled  with  a 
reverential  awe  of  God.  He  was  full  of  the  spirit 
of  self-sacrifice  for  the  honor  of  the  Deity;  he 
could  sink  his  whole  personality  in  the  most  ab- 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  129 

stract  Spirituality,  and  yet  he  could  well  appreciate 
the  good  things  of  this  earth,  and  from  his  mouth 
blossomed  forth  the  famous  saying, — 

"  Who  loves  not  wine,  women,  and  song 
Will  be  a  fool  all  his  life  long." 

He  was,  I  might  say,  a  complete  man, — a  perfect 
man,  in  whom  spirit  and  matter  were  not  antago- 
nistic. To  call  him  a  spiritualist  would,  therefore, 
be  as  erroneous  as  to  call  him  a  sensualist.  How 
shall  I  describe  him  ?  He  had  in  him  something 
original,  incomprehensible,  wonderful, — ^just  as  we 
find  it  to  be  the  case  with  all  providential  men. 

*  *  *  All  praise  to  Luther !  Eternal  honor  to 
the  blessed  man  to  whom  we  owe  the  salvation  of 
our  most  precious  possessions,  and  whose  benefac- 
tions we  still  enjoy.  It  ill  becomes  us  to  complain 
of  the  narrowness  of  his  views.  The  dwarf,  stand- 
ing on  the  shoulders  of  the  giant,  particularly  if 
he  puts  on  spectacles,  can,  it  is  true,  see  farther 
than  the  giant  himself;  but  for  noble  thoughts 
and  exalted  sentiments  a  giant  heart  is  necessary. 
It  were  still  more  unseemly  of  us  to  pass  a  harsh 
judgment  on  his  faults,  for  those  very  faults  have 
benefited  us  more  than  the  virtues  of  thousands  of 
other  men.  The  refinement  of  Erasmus,  the  mild- 
ness of  Melanchthon,  could  never  have  brought  us 
so  far  as  the  godlike  brutality  of  Brother  Martin. 

*  *  *  From  the  day  on  which  Luther  denied  the 


I30 


ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


authority  of  the  Pope,  and  publicly  declared  in 
the  Diet  "that  his  teachings  must  be  controverted 
through  the  words  of  the  Bible  itself,  or  with  sen- 
sible reasons,"  there  begins  a  new  era  in  Germany. 
The  fetters  with  which  Saint  Boniface  had  chained 
the  German  Church  to  Rome  are  broken.  This 
Church,  which  has  hitherto  formed  an  integral 
part  of  the  great  hierarchy,  now  splits  into  re- 
ligious democracies.  The  character  of  the  religion 
itself  is  essentially  changed  :  the  Hindoo-Gnostic 
element  disappears  from  it,  and  the  Judaic-deistic 
element  again  becomes  prominent.  We  behold 
the  rise  of  evangelical  Christianity.  By  recogniz- 
ing and  legitimizing  the  most  importunate  claims 
of  the  senses,  religion  becomes  once  more  a  reality. 
The  priest  becomes  man,  takes  to  himself  a  wife, 
and  begets  children,  as  God  commands. 

****** 
If  in  Germany  we  lost  through  Protestantism, 
along  with  the  ancient  miracles,  much  other  poesy, 
we  gained  manifold  compensations.  Men  became 
nobler  and  more  virtuous.  Protestantism  was  very 
successful  in  effecting  that  purity  of  morals  and 
that  strictness  in  the  fulfillment  of  duty  which  is 
generally  called  morality.  In  certain  communities 
Protestantism  assumed  a  tendency  which  in  the 
end  became  quite  identical  with  morality,  and  the 
evangelic  gospels  remained  as  a  beautiful  parable 
only.     Particularly  in  the  lives  of  the  ecclesiastics 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


131 


is  a  pleasing  change  now  noticeable.  With  celi- 
bacy disappeared  also  monkish  obscenities  and 
vices.  Among  the  Protestant  clergy  are  frequently 
to  be  found  the  noblest  and  most  virtuous  of  men, 
such  as  would  have  won  respect  from  even  the 
ancient  Stoics.  One  must  have  wandered  on  foot, 
as  a  poor  student,  through  Northern  Germany,  in 
order  to  learn  how  much  virtue — and,  in  order  to 
give  virtue  a  complimentary  adjective,  how  much 
evangelical  virtue — is  to  be  found  in  an  unpreten- 
tious-looking parsonage.  How  often  of  a  winter's 
evening  have  I  found  in  them  a  hospitable  wel- 
come,— I,  a  stranger,  who  brought  with  me  no  other 
recommendation  save  that  I  was  hungry  and  tired! 
When  I  had  partaken  of  a  hearty  meal,  and,  after 
a  night's  good  rest,  was  ready  in  the  morning  to 
continue  my  journey,  then  came  the  old  pastor  in 
his  dressing-gown,  and  gave  me  a  blessing  on  the 
way, — and  it  never  brought  me  misfortune ;  and 
his  good-hearted,  gossipy  wife  placed  several  slices 
of  bread-and-butter  in  my  pocket,  which  I  found 
not  less  refreshing;  and  silent  in  the  distance  stood 
the  pastor's  pretty  daughters,  with  blushing  cheeks 
and  violet-blue  eyes,  whose  modest  fire  in  the 
mere  recollection  warmed  my  heart  for  many  a 
whole  winter's  day. 

*  *  *  How  strange !  We  Germans  are  the 
strongest  and  wisest  of  nations ;  our  royal  races 
furnish  princes  for  all  the  thrones  of  Europe;  our 


122  ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

Rothschilds  rule  all  the  Bourses  of  the  world;  our 
learned  men  are  pre-eminent  in  all  the  sciences ; 
we  invented  gunpowder  and  printing ; — and  yet 
if  one  of  us  fires  a  pistol  he  must  pay  a  fine  of 
three  thalers ;  and  if  we  wish  to  insert  in  a  news- 
paper, "  My  dear  wife  has  given  birth  to  a  little 
daughter,  beautiful  as  Liberty,"  then  the  censor 
grasps  his  red  pencil  and  strikes  out  the  word 
"  Liberty." 

*  *  *  Luther  gave  us  not  only  freedom  of  dis- 
cussion, but  also  the  instrument  of  discussion  ;  to 
the  spirit  he  gave  a  body ;  to  the  thought  he  gave 
words.     He  created  the  German  language. 

This  he  did  by  his  translation  of  the  Bible. 

In  fact,  the  divine  author  of  that  book  seems  to 
have  known,  as  well  as  we  others,  that  the  choice 
of  a  translator  is  by  no  means  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference ;  and  so  He  himself  selected  his  translator, 
and  bestowed  on  him  the  wonderful  gift  to  trans- 
late from  a  language  which  was  dead  and  already 
buried,  into  another  language  that  did  not  even  yet 
exist. 

*  *  *  The  knowledge  of  the  HcbrcAV  language 
had  entirely  disappeared  from  the  Christian  world. 
Only  the  Jews,  who  kept  themselves  hidden  here 
and  there  in  stray  corners  of  the  world,  yet  pre- 
served the  traditions  of  this  lanfrua^xe.  Like  a 
ghost  keeping  watch  over  a  treasure  which  had 
been  confided  to  it  during  life,  so  in  its  dark  and 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


33 


gloomy   ghettos    sat    this    murdered    nation,    this 
spectre-people,  guarding  the  Hebrew  Bible. 

*  *  *  Luther's  Bible  is  an  enduring  spring  of 
rejuvenation  for  our  language.  All  the  expressions 
and  phrases  contained  therein  are  German,  and 
are  still  in  use  by  writers.  As  this  book  is  in  the 
hands  of  even  the  poorest  people,  they  require  no 
special  learned  education  in  order  to  be  able  to 
express  themselves  in  literary  forms. 

When  our  political  revolution  breaks  out,  this 
circumstance  will  have  remarkable  results.  Liberty 
will  everywhere  be  gifted  with  the  power  of  speech, 
and  her  speech  will  be  biblical^ 

*  *  *  More  noteworthy  and  of  more  importance 
than  his  prose  writings  are  Luther's  poems,  the 
songs  which  in  battle  and  in  trouble  blossomed 
forth  from  his  heart.  Sometimes  they  resemble  a 
floweret  that  grows  on  a  rocky  crag,  then  again 
a  ray  of  moonlight  trembling  over  a  restless  sea. 
Luther  loved  music,  and  even  wrote  a  treatise  on 
the  art:  hence  his  songs  are  particularly  melo- 
dious. In  this  respect  he  merits  the  name,  the 
Swan  of  Eisleben.  But  he  is  nothing  less  than 
a  mild  swan  in  those  songs  wherein  he  stimulates 
the  courage  of  his  followers  and  inflames  himself 
to  the  fiercest  rage  of  battle.  A  true  battle-song 
was  that  martial  strain  with  which  he  and  his  com- 
panions marched  into  Worms.  The  old  cathedral 
trembled  at  those  unwonted  tones,  and  the  ravens, 

12* 


134  ON    THE  HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

in  their  dark  nests  in  the  steeple,  startlecj  with 
affright  That  song,  the  Marseilles  Hymn  of  the 
Reformation,  preserves  to  this  day  its  inspiriting 
power. 

*  *  *  The  expressions  "  classic"  and  "  roman- 
tic" refer  only  to  the  spirit  and  the  manner  of  the 
treatment.  The  treatment  is  classic  when  the  form 
of  that  which  is  portrayed  is  quite  identical  with 
the  idea  of  the  portrayer,  as  is  the  case  with  the 
art-works  of  the  Greeks,  in  which,  owing  to  this 
identity,  the  greatest  harmony  is  found  to  exist  be- 
tween the  idea  and  its  form,  between  the  meaning 
and  its  embodiment.  The  treatment  is  romantic 
when  the  form  does  not  reveal  the  idea  through 
this  identity,  but  lets  this  idea  or  meaning  be  sur- 
mised parabolically.  The  Greek  mythology  had 
an  array  of  god-figures,  each  of  which,  in  addition 
to  the  identity  of  form  and  idea,  was  also  suscep- 
tible of  a  symbolic  meaning.  But  in  this  Greek 
religion  only  the  figures  of  the  gods  were  clearly 
defined  ;  all  else,  their  lives  and  deeds,  was  left  to 
the  arbitrary  treatment  of  the  poet's  fancy.  In  the 
Christian  religion,  on  the  contrary,  there  are  no 
such  clearly-defined  figures  or  shapes,  but  stated 
facts,  —  certain  definite  holy  events  and  deeds, 
which  the  poetical  faculty  of  man  was  permitted  to 
invest  with  parabolic  significations.  It  is  said  that 
Homer  invented  the  Greek  gods  and  goddesses. 
That    is    not    true.     They    existed    previously    in 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  135 

clearly-defined  outlines ;  but  he  invented  their  his- 
tories. The  artists  of  the  Middle  Ages,  on  the 
other  hand,  never  ventured  the  least  addition  to 
the  historical  part  of  their  religion.  The  fall  of 
man,  the  incarnation,  baptism,  the  crucifixion,  and 
the  like,  were  matters  of  fact,  which  were  not  to  be 
intermeddled  with,  and  which  it  was  not  permis- 
sible to  remodel  in  the  least,  but  to  which,  as  said 
before,  poetry  might  attach  a  symbolic  meaning. 
All  the  arts  during  the  Middle  Ages  were  treated 
in  this  parabolic  spirit,  and  this  treatment  is  ro- 
mantic. Hence  we  find  in  the  poesy  of  the  Middle 
Ages  a  mystic  universality  ;  the  forms  are  all  so 
shadowy,  what  they  do  is  so  vaguely  indicated, 
all  therein  is  as  if  seen  through  a  hazy  twilight 
intermittently  illumined  by  the  moonlight.  The 
idea  is  merely  hinted  at  in  the  form,  as  in  a  riddle; 
and  we  dimly  see  a  vague,  indefinite  figure,  just  as 
is  appropriate  to  such  a  spiritual  literature.  There 
is  not,  as  among  the  Greeks,  a  harmony,  clear  as 
the  sun,  between  form  and  meaning,  but  occasion- 
ally the  meaning  overtops  the  given  form,  and  the 
latter  strives  desperately  to  reach  the  former,  and 
then  we  behold  bizarre,  fantastic  sublimity.  Then, 
again,  the  form  has  overgrown  itself,  and  is  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  meaning.  A  silly,  pitiful 
thought  trails  itself  along  in  some  colossal  form, 
and  we  witness  a  grotesque  farce.  Misshapenness 
is  nearly  always  the  result. 


■36 


O.y   THE  HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


k 


The  universal  characteristic  of  that  Hterature 
was  that  in  all  its  productions  it  manifested  the 
same  firm,  unshaken  faith  which  in  that  period 
reigned  over  all  worldly  and  spiritual  matters.  All 
the  opinions  of  that  time  were  based  on  authori- 
ties. The  poet  journeyed  along  the  abysses  of 
doubt  as  free  from  apprehension  as  a  mule,  and 
there  prevailed  in  the  literature  of  that  period  a 
dauntless  composure  and  blissful  self-confidence 
such  as  became  impossible  in  after-times,  when  the 
influence  of  the  Papacy,  the  chief  of  those  authori- 
ties, was  shattered,  and  with  it  all  the  others  were 
overthrown.  Hence  the  poems  of  the  Middle  Ages 
have  all  the  same  characteristics,  as  if  composed 
not  by  single  individuals,  but  by  the  whole  people 
cii  masse :  they  are  objective,  epic,  naive. 

In  the  literature  that  blossomed  into  life  with 
Luther  we  find  quite  opposite  tendencies. 

Its  material,  its  subject,  is  the  conflict  between 
the  interests  and  views  of  the  Reformation  and 
the  old  order  of  things.  To  the  new  spirit  of 
the  times,  that  hodge-podge  religion  which  arose 
from  the  two  elements  already  referred  to — Ger- 
manic nationality  and  the  Hindoo-Gnostic  Chris- 
tendom— was  altogether  repugnant.  The  latter  was 
considered  heathen  idol-worship,  which  was  to  be^ 
replaced  by  the  true  religion  of  the  Judaic-deistic- 
cvangelic  gospels.  New  views  prevail,  which  are 
less    inimical    to    the    gratification    of  the   senses. 


AiXn   PHILOSOPHY  IN   GERMANY. 


137 


Through  industrial  progress  and  the  dissemination 
of  philosophical  theories,  spiritualism  becomes  dis- 
credited in  popular  opinion.  The  tiers-etat  begins 
to  rise;  the  Revolution  already  rumbles  in  the 
hearts  and  brains  of  men,  and  what  the  era  feels, 
thinks,  needs,  and  wills  is  openly  proclaimed  ;  and 
that  constitutes  the  subject-matter  of  modern  lit- 
erature. 

*  *  *  The  universal  characteristic  of  modern 
literature  consists  in  this:  that  now  individuality 
and  skepticism  predominate.  Authorities  are  over- 
thrown ;  reason  is  now  man's  sole  lamp,  and  con- 
science his  only  staff  in  the  dark  mazes  of  life. 
Man  now  stands  alone,  face  to  face  with  his  Cre- 
ator, and  chants  his  song  to  Him.  Hence  this 
literary  epoch  opens  with  hymns.  And  even  later, 
when  it  becomes  secular,  the  most  devout  self- 
consciousness,  the  sense  of  individuality,  reigns 
therein.  Poesy  is  no  longer  objective,  epic,  and 
naive,  but  subjective,  lyric,  and  introspective. 

*  *  *  The  God  of  the  pantheists  differs  from 
the  God  of  the  deists  in  so  far  that  the  former  is 
in  the  world  itself,  while  the  latter  is  external  to, 
or,  in  other  words,  is  over,  the  world.  The  God  of 
the  deists  rules  the  world  from  above  downwards, 
as  a  something  separate  and  distinct  from  himself 
Only  in  regard  to  the  manner  and  nature  of  that 
rule  do  the  deists  differ  among  themselves.  The 
Hebrews  picture  God  as  a  thunder-hurling  tyrant ; 


138  ON    THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

the  Christians  regard  him  as  a  lovnng  father;  the 
disciples  of  Rousseau  and  the  whole  Genevese 
school  portray  him  as  a  skillful  artist,  who  has 
made  the  whole  world  s'omewhat  in  the  same 
manner  as  their  papas  manufacture  watches ;  and, 
as  art-connoisseurs,  they  admire  the  work  and 
praise  the  maker  above. 

*  *  *  When  religion  can  no  longer  burn  us  at 
the  stake,  she  comes  to  us  begging.  But  all  our 
gifts  bring  only  evil. 

*  *  *  From  the  moment  religion  seeks  assist- 
ance from  philosophy  her  downfall  is  unavoid- 
able. She  -strives  to  defend  herself,  and  always 
talks  herself  deeper  into  ruin.  Religion,  like  all 
other  absolutisms,  may  not  justify  herself  Pro- 
metheus is  bound  to  the  rock  by  a  silejit  power, 
-^schylus  represents  the  personification  of  brute 
force  as  not  speaking  a  single  word.  It  must  be 
dumb. 

*  *  *  Moses  Mendelssohn  was  the  reformer  of 
the  German  Israelites,  his  companions  in  faith. 
He  overthrew  the  prestige  of  Talmudism,  and 
founded  a  pure  Mosaism.  This  man,  whom  his 
cotemporaries  called  the  German  Socrates,  and 
whose  nobleness  of  soul  and  intellectual  powers 
they  so  admired,  was  the  son  of  a  poor  sexton  of 
the  synagogue  at  Dessau.  Besides  this  curse  of 
birth,  Providence  made  him  a  hunchback,  in  order 
to  teach  the  rabble  in  a  very  striking  manner  that 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.       /    j  ^q 

men  are  to  be  judged  not  by  outward  appearance 
but  by  inner  worth. 

*  *  *  As  Luther  overthrew  the  Papacy,  so  Men- 
delssohn overthrew  the  Tahnud  ;  and  that,  too,  by 
a  similar  process.  He  discarded  tradition,  declared 
the  Bible  to  be  the  well-spring  of  religion,  and 
translated  the  most  important  parts  of  it.  By  so 
doing  he  destroyed  Jewish  Catholicism,  for  such 
is  the  Talmud.  It  is  a  Gothic  dome  which,  al- 
though overladen  with  fanciful,  childish  ornamen- 
tation, yet  amazes  us  by  the  immensity  of  its 
heaven-aspiring  proportions. 

*  '^  *  No  German  can  pronounce  the  name  of 
Lessing  without  its  finding  a  responsive  echo  in 
his  breast.  Since  Luther,  Germany  has  produced 
no  greater  and  better  man  than  Gotthold  Ephraim 
Lessing.     These  two  are  our  pride  and  joy. 

Like  Luther,  Lessing's  achievements  consisted 
not  only  in  effecting  something  definite,  but  in 
agitating  the  German  people  to  its  depths,  and  in 
awakening  through  his  critiques  and  polemics  a 
wholesome  intellectual  activity.  He  was  the  vivi- 
fying critique  of  his  time,  and  his  whole  life  was 
a  polemic.  His  critical  insight  made  itself  felt 
throughout  the  widest  range  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing,— in  religion,  in  science,  and  in  art.  His  pole- 
mics vanquished  every  opponent  and  grew  stronger 
with  every  victory.  Lessing,  as  he  himself  con- 
fessed, needed  conflict  for  the  full  development  of 


I40  ON    THE   ins  TORY  OF  RELIGION 

his  povvers>  He  resembled  that  fabulous  Norman 
who  inherited  the  skill,  knowledge,  and  strength 
of  those  whom  he  slew  in  single  combat,  and  in 
this  manner  became  finally  endowed  with  all  pos- 
sible excellences  and  perfections.  It  is  easily 
conceivable  that  such  a  contentious  champion 
should  stir  up  not  a  little  commotion  in  Germany, 
— in  that  peaceful  Germany  which  was  then  even 
more  sabbatically  quiet  than  at  present.  The 
majority  were  stupefied  at  his  literary  audacity. 
But  just  this  was  of  the  greatest  assistance  to  him, 
for  oscrf  is  the  secret  of  success  in  li_terature,  as 
it  is  in  revolutions, — and  in  love.  £  All  trembled 
before  the  sword  of  Lessing.  No  nead  was  safe 
from  him.  Yea,  some  craniums  he  struck  off  from 
mere  wantonness,  and  was  moreover  so  spiteful  as 
to  lift  them  up  from  the  ground  and  show  to  the 
public  that  they  were  hollow  inside.  Those  whom 
his  sword  could  not  reach  he  slew  with  his  shafts 
of  wit.  His  friends  admired  the  pretty  variegated 
feathers  of  his  winged  arrows ;  his  enemies  felt 
their  sting  in  their  hearts. 3  Lessing's  wit  does  not 
resemble  that  cnjoucvicnt,  that  gciite,  those  lively 
sallies,  which  are  so  well  known  here  in  France. 
His  wit  was  no  petty  French  greyhound  chasing 
its  own  shadow:  it  was  rather  a  German  cat  play- 
ing with  a  mouse  before  strangling  it. 

Tolcmics  were  Lessing's  delight,  and  hence  he 
never   reflected    long   whether    an    opponent   was 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  14 j 

worthy  of  him ;  and  thus  through  his  contro- 
versial writings  he  has  saved  many  a  name  from 
well-merited  oblivion.  Around  many  a  pitiful 
authorling  he  has  spun  a  web  of  the  wittiest  sar- 
casm, the  most  charming  humor;  and  thus  they 
are  preserved  for  all  time  in  Lessing's  works,  like 
insects  caught  in  a  piece  of  amber.  In  slaying 
his  enemies  he  made  them  immortal.  Who  of  us 
would  have  ever  heard  of  that  Klotz  on  whom 
Lessing  wasted  so  much  wit  and  scorn  ?  The 
huge  masses  of  rock  which  he  hurled  at,  and  with 
which  he  crushed,  that  poor  antiquarian,  are  now 
the  latter's  indestructible  monument. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  this  wittiest  man  of  all 
Germany  was  also  the  most  honorable.  There  is 
nothing  to  which  his  love  of  truth  may  be  com- 
pared. Lessing  made  not  the  least  concession 
to  falsehood,  even  if  thereby  he  could,  after  the 
manner  of  the  worldly-wise,  advance  the  victory 
of  truth  itself.  He  would  do  everything  for  truth 
except  lie  for  it. 

*  *  *  It  is  heart-rending  to  read  in  his  biog- 
raphy how  fate  denied  this  man  every  joy,  and 
how  it  did  not  even  vouchsafe  to  him  to  rest  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family  from  his  daily  struggles.  Once 
only  fortune  seemed  inclined  to  smile  on  him ;  he 
was  blessed  with  a  beloved  wife  and  child.  But 
this  happiness  was  like  the  rays  of  the  sun  gilding 
the  wings  of  a  swift-flying  bird :   it  vanished  as 

13 


142 


ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


quickly.  His  wife  died  in  consequence  of  her 
confinement,  and  the  child  soon  after.  Concerning 
the  latter,  he  wrote  to  a  friend  the  horribly-witty 
words,  **  My  joy  was  brief  And  I  lost  him  so 
unwillingly,  this  son  of  mine !  for  he  was  so  wise, 
so  wise !  Think  not  that  the  few  hours  of  my 
fatherhood  have  already  made  a  doting  parent  of 
me.  I  know  what  I  say.  Was  it  not  wisdom 
that  he  came  so  reluctantly  into  the  world,  and 
that  he  so  soon  noticed  its  folly  ?  Was  it  not  wis- 
dom that  he  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  leave 
it  ?  For  once  I  have  sought  to  be  happy  like  other 
men ;  but  I  have  made  a  miserable  failure  of  it." 

*  *  *  Lessing  was  only  the  prophet  who  from 
the  second  Testament  pointed  over  into  the  third. 
I  have  called  him  the  successor  of  Luther;  and  it 
is  from  this  point  of  view  that  I  propose  to  discuss 
him  here.  Of  his  influence  on  German  art  I  shall 
speak  hereafter.  In  the  latter  he  effected  a  whole- 
some reform,  not  only  through  his  critiques,  but 
also  through  his  example;  and  this  latter  phase 
of  his  activity  is  generally  made  the  most  prom- 
inent, and  is  the  most  discussed.  But,  viewed 
from  our  present  stand-point,  his  philosophical 
and  theological  battles  are  to  us  more  important 
than  all  his  dramatic  works  and  all  his  writings  on 
dramaturgy.  His  dramas,  however,  like  all  his 
writings,  have  a  social  import,  and  "  Nathan  the 
Wise"  is  in  reality  not  only  a  good  play,  but  also 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  143 

a  philosophical,  theological  treatise  in  support  of 
the  doctrine  of  a  pure  deism.  For  Lessing,  art 
was  a  tribune,  and  when  he  was  thrust  from  the 
pulpit  or  the  professor's  chair  he  retreated  to  the 
stage,  gaining  thereby  a  more  numerous  audience 
and  speaking  out  more  boldly  than  before. 

I  claim  that  Lessing  continued  the  work  of 
Luther.  After  Luther  had  freed  us  from  the  yoke 
of  tradition  and  had  exalted  the  Bible  as  the  only 
well-spring  of  Christianity,  there  ensued  a  rigid 
word-service,  and  the  letter  of  the  Bible  ruled  just 
as  tyrannically  as  once  did  tradition.  Lessing 
contributed  the  most  to  the  emancipation  from 
the  tyranny  of  the  letter. 

*  *  *  *' The  letter,"  said  Lessing,  "is  the  last 
veil  of  Christianity,  and  only  after  the  removal 
of  that  veil  will  its  spirit  appear."  This  spirit, 
however,  is  nothing  else  than  what  the  Wolfians 
thought  they  had  demonstrated ;  what  the  philan- 
thropists felt  in  their  hearts;  what  Mendelssohn 
discovered  in  Mosaism ;  what  the  freemasons 
chanted;  what  the  poets  sang;  what  at  that  time 
held  sway  in  Germany  under  all  forms, — pure 
deism. 

'Xessing  died  at  Brunswick,  in  the  year  178 1, 
misunderstood,  hated,  and  denounced.  In  the 
same  year  there  was  published  at  Konigsberg 
the  "Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  by  Immanuel 
Kant.     With  this  book  there  begins  in  Germany 


144 


ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


an  intellectual  revolution,  which  offers  the  most 
wonderful  analogies  to  the  material  revolution  in 
France,  and  which  to  the  profound  thinker  must 
appear  equally  important..  It  develops  the  same 
phases,  and  between  the  two  there  exists  a  very 
remarkable  parallelism.  On  both  sides  of  the 
Rhine  we  behold  the  same  rupture  with  the  past : 
it  is  loudly  proclaimed  that  all  reverence  for  tra- 
dition is  at  an  end.  As  in  France  no  privilege, 
so  in  Germany  no  thought  is  tolerated  without 
proving  its  right  to  exist:  nothing  is  taken  for 
granted.  And  as  in  France  fell  the  monarchy, 
the  keystone  of  the  old  social  system,  so  in  Ger- 
many fell  deism,  the  keystone  of  the  intellectual 
ancie7i  regime. 

5jC  5fC  5fl  ^  5}J  ^ 

It  is  horrible  when  the  bodies  which  we  have 
created  ask  of  us  a  soul.  But  it  is  still  more 
horrible,  more  terrible,  more  uncanny,  to  create 
a  soul,  which  craves  a  body  and  pursues  us  with 
that  demand.  The  idea  which  we  have  thought 
is  such  a  soul,  and  it  allows  us  no  peace  until  we 
have  given  it  a  body,  until  we  have  brought  it  into 
actual  being.  The  thought  seeks  to  become  deed; 
the  word,  flesh.  And,  strange!  man,  like  the  God 
of  the  Bible,  needs  but  to  speak  his  thought,  and 
the  world  shapes  itself  accordingly :  light  dawns, 
or  darkness  descends ;  the  waters  separate  them- 
selves from   the   dry   land,  and  even  wild  beasts 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


145 


appear.  The  universe  is  but  the  signature  of  the 
word. 

Mark  this,  ye  haughty  men  of  action.  Ye  are 
naught  but  the  unconscious  servants  of  the  men  of 
thought,  who,  ofttimes  in  the  humblest  obscurity, 
have  marked  out  your  tasks  for  you  with  the  utmost 
exactitude.  Maximilian  Robespierre  was  only  the 
hand  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, — the  bloody  hand 
that  from  the  womb  of  time  drew  forth  the  body 
whose  soul  Rousseau  had  created.  Did  the  rest- 
less anxiety  that  embittered  the  life  of  Jean  Jacques 
arise  from  a  foreboding  that  his  thoughts  would 
require  such  an  obstetrician  to  bring  them  bodily 
to  life? 

Old  Fontenelle  was  perhaps  in  the  right  when 
he  declared,  '*If  I  carried  all  the  ideas  of  this  world 
in  my  closed  hand,  I  should  take  good  heed  not 
to  open  it."  For  my  part,  I  think  differently.  If 
I  held  all  the  ideas  of  the  world  in  my  hand,  I 
might  perhaps  implore  you  to  hew  off  my  hand  at 
once,  but  in  no  case  would  I  long  keep  it  closed. 
I  am  ill  adapted  to  be  a  jailer  of  thoughts.  By 
heaven  !  I  would  set  them  free, — yea,  even  should 
they  assume  the  most  threatening  shapes  and 
sweep  through  all  lands  like  a  train  of  mad  Bac- 
chantes ;  even  if  with  their  thyrsus  staffs  they 
should  strike  down  our  most  innocent  flowers, 
break  into  our  hospitals  and  chase  the  sick,  de- 
crepit old  world  from  its  bed.      Truly,  it  would 


46 


ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


grieve  me  sadly,  and  I  myself  would  come  to  harm. 
For,  alas  !  I  too  belong  to  this  diseased  and  super- 
annuated world ;  and  the  poet  says  rightly  that 
scoffing  at  our  crutches  does  not  enable  us  to  walk 
any  the  better.  I  am  the  most  sick  among  you  all, 
and  the  most  to  be  pitied,  for  I  know  what  health 
is.  But  ye  know  it  not,  ye  enviable  ones.  Ye  can 
die  without  noticing  it  yourselves.  Verily,  many 
of  ye  have  already  been  dead  for  these  many  years, 
and  yet  ye  assert  that  now  only  does  the  true  life 
begin.  When  I  contradict  such  madness,  then  they 
become  enraged  against  me,  and  rail  at  me,  and, 
horrible  !  the  corpses  spring  on  me  and  reproach 
me ;  and  more  even  than  their  revilings  does  their 
mouldy  odor  oppress  me.  Avaunt,  ye  spectres ! 
I  shall  speak  of  one  whose  very  name  possesses 
an  exorcising  power:  I  speak  of  Immanuel  Kant. 

It  is  said  that  the  spirits  of  darkness  tremble 
with  affright  when  they  behold  the  sword  of  an 
executioner.  How,  then,  must  they  stand  aghast 
when  confronted  with  Kant's  "Critique  of  Pure 
Reason"!  This  book  is  the  sword  with  which,  in 
Germany,  deism  was  decapitated. 

To  be  candid,  ye  French  are  tame  and  moderate 
compared  with  us  Germans.  At  the  most,  you 
have  slain  a  king ;  and  he  had  already  lost  his  head 
before  he  was  beheaded.  Meanwhile,  ye  beat  the 
drums,  and  shouted,  and  stamped  with  your  feet, 
so    that    the   whole   world    was    shaken   with   the 


AND  PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


147 


tumult.  It  is  really  awarding  Maximilian  Robes- 
pierre too  much  honor  to  compare  him  with  Im- 
manuel  Kant.  Maximilian  Robespierre,  the  great 
exemplar  of  the  staid,  practical,  prosaic  citizen 
class,  did  truly  have  attacks  of  destructive  fury 
when  the  monarchy  was  concerned,  and  he  writhed 
terribly  enough  in  his  regicidal  epilepsy;  but  as 
soon  as  the  Supreme  Being  was  mentioned,  he 
wiped  the  white  foam  from  his  mouth  and  the 
blood  from  his  hands,  put  on  his  blue  Sunday  coat 
with  the  glass  buttons,  and  attached  a  bouquet  of 
flowerets  to  his  broad  coat-lapel. 

It  is  difficult  to  write  the  biography  of  Immanuel 
Kant,  for  he  had  neither  a  career  nor  a  history.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  and  lived  a  mechanical,  orderly, 
almost  abstract  life,  in  a  quiet  little  side-street  of 
Konigsberg,  an  old  city  near  the  northeast  bound- 
ary of  Germany.  I  believe  that  the  great  clock  of 
the  cathedral  did  not  perform  its  daily  work  more 
dispassionately,  more  regularly,  than  its  country- 
man Immanuel  Kant.  Rising,  coffee-drinking, 
writing,  collegiate  lectures,  dining,  walking, — each 
had  its  set  time.  And  when  Immanuel  Kant,  in 
his  gray  coat,  cane  in  hand,  appeared  at  the  door 
of  his  house  and  strolled  towards  the  small  linden 
avenue  which  is  still  called  "  the  philosopher's 
walk,"  the  neighbors  knew  it  was  exactly  half-past 
three  by  the  clock.  Eight  times  he  promenaded 
up  and  down,  during  all   seasons;   and  when  the 


148  ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 

weather  was  gloomy,  or  the  gray  clouds  threatened 
rain,  his  old  servant  Lampe  was  seen  plodding 
anxiously  after,  with  a  large  umbrella  under  his 
arm,  like  a  symbol  of  Providence. 

What  a  strange  contrast  between  the  outer  life 
of  the  man  and  his  destructive,  world-convulsing 
thoughts !  Had  the  citizens  of  Konigsberg  sur- 
mised the  whole  significance  of  those  thoughts, 
they  would  have  felt  a  more  profound  awe  in  the 
presence  of  this  man  than  in  that  of  an  execu- 
tioner, who  merely  slays  human  beings.  But  the 
good  people  saw  in  him  nothing  but  a  professor 
of  philosophy  ;  and  when  at  the  fixed  hour  he 
sauntered  by,  they  nodded  a  friendly  greeting  and 
regulated  their  watches. 

But  if  Immanuel  Kant,  that  arch-destroyer  in 
the  realms  of  thought,  far  surpassed  Maximilian 
Robespierre  in  terrorism,  yet  he  had  certain  points 
of  resemblance  to  the  latter  that  invite  a  compar- 
ison of  the  two  men.  In  both  we  find  the  same 
inflexible,  rigid,  prosaic  integrity.  Then  we  find 
in  both  the  same  instinct  of  distrust, — only  that 
the  one  exercises  it  against  ideas,  and  names  it 
a  critique,  while  the  other  applies  it  to  men,  and 
calls  it  republican  virtue.  In  both,  however,  the 
narrow-minded  shopkeeper  type  is  markedly  man- 
ifest. Nature  had  intended  them  to  weigh  out 
sugar  and  coffee,  but  fate  willed  it  otherwise,  and 
int(^  the  scales  of  the  one  it  laid  a  king,  into  those 


i 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


149 


of  the  other,  a  God.     And  they  both  weighed  cor- 
rectly. 

*  *  "^  It  is  a  pecuhar  circumstance  that  the 
Fichtean  philosophy  has  always  been  subjected  to 
much  ridicule.  I  once  saw  a  caricature  represent- 
ing a  Fichtean  goose,  which  had  so  large  a  liver 
that  it  no  longer  knew  whether  it  was  a  goose  or 
a  liver.     On  its  belly  was  inscribed  "  1=1." 

*  *  *  We  burlesqued  cleverly  the  Fichtean 
"  I,"  which  claimed  that  the  whole  world  of  phe- 
nomena was  produced  merely  by  its  thinking.  A 
droll  misunderstanding  which  arose  and  was  widely 
circulated  came  timely  to  the  aid  of  the  mockers. 
The  public  at  large  believed  that  the  Fichtean 
"  I"  meant  "  I,  Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte,"  and  that 
this  individual  "  I"  denied  all  other  existences. 
"  What  impudence  !"  cried  the  good  people  ;  "  this 
person  does  not  believe  that  we  exist! — we  who 
are  more  corpulent  than  he,  and  who,  as  aldermen 
and  state  officials,  are  even  his  superiors !"  The 
ladies  asked,  "  Does  he  not  even  believe  in  the 
existence  of  his  wife  ?  No  ?  And  Madame  Fichte  . 
permits  that?"  ^, 

*  *  *  Pantheism  had  already  in  Fichte's  time 
interpenetrated  German  art;  even  the  Catholic 
Romanticists  unconsciously  followed  this  current, 
and  Goethe  expressed  it  most  unmistakably.  This 
he  already  does  in  *'  Werther."  In  "  Faust"  he 
seeks  to  establish  an  affinity  between  man  and 


ISO 


ON  THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


nature  by  a  bold,  direct,  mystic  method,  and  con- 
jures the  secret  forces  of  nature  through  the  magic 
formula  of  the  powers  of  hell.  But  this  Goethean 
pantheism  is  the  most  clearly  and  most  charm- 
ingly disclosed  in  his  short  ballads.  The  early 
philosophy  of  Spinoza  has  shed  its  mathematical 
shell,  and  now  flutters  about  us  as  Goethean  poesy. 
Hence  the  wrath  of  our  pietists,  and  of  orthodoxy 
in  general,  against  the  Goethean  ballads.  With 
their  pious  bear-paws  they  clumsily  strike  at  this 
butterfly,  which  is  so  daintily  ethereal,  so  hazy 
and  light  of  wing,  that  it  always  flits  out  of  reach. 

These  Goethean  ballads  have  a  tantalizing  charm 
that  is  indescribable.  The  harmonious  verses  cap- 
tivate the  heart  like  the  tenderness  of  a  loving 
maiden ;  the  words  embrace,  while  the  thought 
kisses. 

*  *  *  This  giant  was  minister  in  a  liliputian 
German  state,  in  which  he  could  never  move  at 
ease.  It  was  said  of  Phidias's  Jupiter  seated  in 
Olympus,  that  were  he  ever  to  stand  erect  the 
sudden  uprising  would  rend  asunder  the  vaulted 
roof  This  was  exactly  Goethe's  situation  at 
Weimar:  had  he  suddenly  lifted  himself  up  from 
his  peaceful,  sitting  posture,  he  would  have  shat- 
tered the  gabled  canopy  of  state,  or,  more  proba- 
bly, he  would  have  bruised  his  own  head.  But 
the  German  Jupiter  remained  quietly  seated,  and 
composedly  accepted  homage  and  incense. 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


151 


*  *  *  When  it  was  seen  that  such  saddening 
follies  were  budding  out  of  philosophy  and  ripen- 
ing into  a  baleful  maturity, — when  it  was  observed 
that  the  German  youth  were  generally  absorbed  in 
metaphysical  abstractions,  thereby  neglecting  the 
most  important  questions  of  the  time  and  unfit- 
ting themselves  for  practical  life, — it  was  quite 
natural  that  patriots  and  lovers  of  liberty  should 
be  led  to  conceive  a  justifiable  dislike  to  phi- 
losophy ;  and  a  few  went  so  far  as  to  condemn  it 
utterly  and  entirely,  as  idle,  useless,  chimerical 
theorizing. 

We  shall  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  attempt  seriously 
to  refute  these  malcontents.  German  philosophy 
is  a  matter  of  great  weight  and  importance,  and 
concerns  the  whole  human  race.  Only  our  most 
remote  descendants  will  be  able  to  decide  whether 
we  deserve  blame  or  praise  for  completing  first 
our  philosophy  and  afterwards  our  revolution.  To 
me  it  seems  that  a  methodical  people,  such  as  we 
Germans  are,  must  necessarily  have  commenced 
with  the  Reformation,  could  only  after  that  pro- 
ceed to  occupy  ourselves  with  philosophy,  and  not 
until  the  completion  of  the  latter  could  we  pass  on 
to  the  political  revolution.  pThis  order  I  find  quite 
sensible.  The  heads  which  philosophy  has  used 
for  thinking,  the  revolution  can  afterwards,  for  its 
purposes,  cut  off.  But  philosophy  would  never 
have  been  able  to  use  the  heads  which  had  been 


52 


ON   THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


decapitated  by  the  revolution,  if  the  latter   had 
preceded. 

*  *  *  Christianity  has  to  a  certain  degree  mod- 
erated that  brutal  lust  of  battle,  such  as  we  find  it 
among  the  ancient  Germanic  races,  who  fought, 
not  to  destroy,  nor  yet  to  conquer,  but  merely 
from  a  fierce,  demoniac  love  of  battle  itself;  but  it 
could  not  altogether  eradicate  it.  And  when  once 
that  restraining  talisman,  the  cross,  is  broken,  then 
the  smouldering  ferocity  of  those  ancient  warriors 
will  again  blaze  up  ;  then  will  again  be  heard  the 
deadly  clang  of  that  frantic  Berserkir  wrath,  of 
which  the  Norse  poets  say  and  sing  so  much. 
That  talisman  is  rotten  with  decay,  and  the  day 
will  surely  come  when  it  will  crumble  and  fall. 
Then  the  ancient  stone  gods  will  arise  from  out  the 
ashes  of  dismantled  ruins,  and  rub  the  dust  of  a 
thousand  years  from  their  eyes  ;  and  finally  Thor, 
with  his  colossal  hammer,  will  leap  up,  and  with  it 
shatter  into  fragments  the  Gothic  domes.   . 

And  when  ye  hear  the  rumbling  and  the  crum- 
bling, take  heed,  ye  neighbors  of  France,  and  meddle 
not  with  what  we  do  in  Germany.  It  might  bring 
harm  on  you.  Take  heed  not  to  kindle  the  fire; 
take  heed  not  to  quench  it.  Ye  might  easily  burn 
your  fingers  in  the  flame.  Smile  not  at  my  advice 
as  the  counsel  of  a  visionary  warning  you  against 
Kantians,  Fichteans,  and  natural  philosophers. 
Scoff  not    at    the    dreamer    who    expects    in    the 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY.  jr-^ 

material  world  a  revolution  similar  to  that  which 
has  already  taken  place  in  the  domains  of  thought. 
The  thought  goes  before  the  deed,  as  the  lightning 
precedes  the  thunder.  True,  the  German  thunder 
is  German,  and  is  rather  awkward,  and  comes  roll- 
ing along  rather  tardily;  but  come  it  surely  will, 
and  when  ye  once  hear  a  crash  the  like  of  which 
in  the  world's  history  was  never  heard  before,  then 
know  that  the  German  thunderbolt  has  reached  its 
mark.  At  this  crash  the  eagles  will  fall  dead  in 
mid  air,  and  the  lions  in  Afric's  most  distant  deserts 
will  cower  and  sneak  into  their  most  royal  dens. 
A  drama  will  be  enacted  in  Germany  in  compari- 
son with  which  the  French  Revolution  will  appear 
a  harmless  idyl.  To  be  sure,  matters  are  at  present 
rather  quiet,  and  if  occasionally  this  one  or  the 
other  rants  and  gesticulates  somewhat  violently,  do 
not  believe  that  these  will  ever  appear  as  the  real 
actors.  These  are  only  little  puppies,  that  run 
around  in  the  empty  arena,  barking  and  snarling 
at  one  another,  until  the  hour  shall  arrive  when 
appear  the  gladiators,  who  are  to  battle  unto 
death. 

And  that  hour  will  come.  As  on  the  raised 
benches  of  an  amphitheatre  the  nations  will  group 
themselves  around  Germany  to  behold  the  great 
tournament.  I  advise  you,  ye  French,  keep  very 
quiet  then  :  on  your  souls  take  heed  that  ye  ap- 
plaud not.     We  might  easily  misunderstand  you, 

14 


154 


ON  THE   HISTORY  OF  RELIGION 


and  in  our  blunt  manner  roughly  quiet  and  rebuke 
you;  for  if  in  our  former  servile  condition  we  could 
sometimes  overcome  you,  much  more  easily  can 
we  do  so  in  the  wantonness  and  delirious  intoxi- 
cation of  freedom.  Ye  yourselves  know  what  one 
can  do  in  such  a  condition,  and  ye  are  no  longer 
in  that  condition.  Beware  !  I  mean  it  well  with 
you,  therefore  I  tell  you  the  bitter  truth.  Ye  have 
more  to  fear  from  emancipated  Germany  than 
from  the  whole  Holy  Alliance,  with  all  its  Croats 
and  Cossacks.  For,  in  the  first  place,  ye  are  not 
loved  in  Germany, — which  is  almost  incomprehen- 
sible, for  ye  are  so  very  amiable,  and  during  your 
sojourn  in  Germany  took  much  pains  to  please 
the  better  and  lovelier  half  of  the  Germans.  But 
even  if  that  half  should  love  you,  it  is,  however, 
just  the  half  that  does  not  bear  arms,  and  whose 
friendship  would  therefore  avail  you  but  little. 

What  they  really  have  against  you,  I  never  could 
comprehend.  Once  in  a  beer-cellar  at  Gottingen 
a  young  Teuton  expressed  himself  that  revenge 
must  be  had  on  the  French  for  Conrad  von  Stauf- 
fen,  whom  they  beheaded  at  Naples.  You  have 
surely  long  since  forgotten  that.  But  we  forget 
nothing.  So  you  see  that  if  we  should  once  be 
inclined  to  quarrel  with  you,  good  reasons  will  not 
be  wanting.  At  all  events,  I  advise  you  to  be  on 
your  guard.  Let  in  Germany  happen  what  will, 
whether  the  crown  prince  of  Prussia  or  Dr.  Wirth 


AND   PHILOSOPHY  IN  GERMANY. 


155 


hold  sway,  be  ye  always  armed,  remain  quietly 
at  your  post,  musket  in  hand.  I  mean  it  well  with 
you ;  and  I  almost  stood  aghast  when  I  learned 
lately  that  your  ministry  propose  to  disarm  France. 

As,  notwithstanding  your  present  Romanticism, 
ye  are  inborn  classics,  ye  know  Olympus.  Among 
the  naked  gods  and  goddesses  who  there  merrily 
regale  themselves  with  nectar  and  ambrosia,  ye 
behold  one  goddess  who,  although  surrounded  by 
mirth  and  sport,  yet  wears  always  a  coat  of  mail, 
and  keeps  helm  on  head  and  spear  in  hand. 

It. is  thg^ goddess  of  wisdom. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


Madame  de  Stael's  work,  "De  rAllemagne," 
is  the  only  comprehensive  account  of  the  intel- 
lectual life  of  Germany  which  has  been  accessible 
to  the  French  ;  and  yet  since  her  book  appeared 
a  considerable  period  has  elapsed,  and  an  entirely 
new  school  of  literature  has  arisen  in  Germany. 
Is  it  only  a  transitional  literature?  Has  it  already 
reached  its  zenith?  Has  it  already  begun  to  de- 
cline? Opinions  are  divided  concerning  it.  The 
majority  believe  that  with  the  death  of  Goethe  a 
new  literary  era  begins  in  Germany;  that  with  him 
the  old  Germany  also  descended  to  its  grave  ;  that 
the  aristocratic  period  of  literature  was  ended,  and 
the  democratic  just  beginning;  or,  as  a  French 
journal  recently  phrased  it,  "the  intellectual  do- 
minion of  the  individual  has  ceased, — the  intel- 
lectual rule  of  the  many  has  commenced." 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  do  not  venture  to 
pass  so  decided  an  opinion  as  to  the  future  evolu- 
tions of  German  intellect.  I  had  already  prophe- 
156 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  iq^ 

sied  many  years  in  advance  the  end  of  the  Goethean 
art-period,  by  which  name  I  was  the  first  to  desig- 
nate that  era.  I  could  safely  venture  the  prophecy, 
for  I  knew  very  well  the  ways  and  the  means  of 
those  malcontents  who  sought  to  overthrow  the 
Goethean  art-empire,  and  it  is  even  claimed  that 
I  took  part  in  those  seditious  outbreaks  against 
Goethe.  Now  that  Goethe  is  dead,  the  thought 
of  it  fills  me  with  an  overpowering  sorrow. 

While  I  announce  this  book  as  a  sequel  to 
Madame  de  Stael's  "  De  I'Allemagne,"  ^nd  extol 
her  work  very  highly  as  being  replete  with  in- 
formation, I  must  yet  recommend  a  certain  caution 
in  the  acceptance  of  the  views  enunciated  in  that 
book,  which  I  am  compelled  to  characterize  as  a 
coterie-book.  Madame  de  Stael,  of  glorious  mem- 
ory, has  here,  in  the  form  of  a  book,  opened  a 
salon,  in  which  she  received  German  authors  and 
gave  them  an  opportunity  to  make  themselves 
known  to  the  French  civilized  world.  But  above 
the  din  of  the  most  diverse  voices,  confusedly  dis- 
coursing therein,  the  most  audibje  is  the  delicate 
treble  of  Herr  A.  W.  Schlegel.  Where  the  large- 
hearted  woman  is  wholly  herself, — where  she  is 
uninfluenced  by  others,  and  expresses  the  thoughts 
of  her  own  radiant  soul,  displaying  all  her  intel- 
lectual fireworks  and  brilliant  follies, — there  the 
book  is  good,  even  excellent.  But  as  soon  as 
she  yields  to  foreign  influences,  as  soon  as  she 
14* 


158 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


begins  to  glorify  a  school  whose  spirit  is  wholly 
unfamiliar  and  incomprehensible  to  her,  as  soon  as 
through  the  commendation  of  this  school  she  fur- 
thers certain  ultramontane  tendencies  which  are  in 
direct  opposition  to  her  own  Protestant  clearness, 
just  so  soon  her  book  becomes  wretched  and  un- 
enjoyable.  To  this  unconscious  partisanship  she 
adds  the  evident  purpose,  through  praise  of  the 
intellectual  activity,  the  idealism,  of  Germany,  to 
rebuke  the  realism  then  existing  among  the  French, 
and  the  materialistic  splendors  of  the  Empire.  Her 
book  "  De  I'Allemagne"  resembles  in  this  respect 
the  "  Germania"  of  Tacitus,  who  perhaps  likewise 
designed  his  eulogy  of  the  Germans  as  an  indirect 
satire  against  his  countrymen. 

The  school  which  Madame  de  Stael  glorified,  and 
whose  tendencies  she  furthered,  was  the  Romantic 
school,  which  was  naught  else  than  the  re-awaken- 
ing of  the  poetry  of  the  Middle  Ages  as  it  mani- 
fested itself  in  the  poems,  paintings,  and  sculptures, 
in  the  art  and  life,  of  those  times.  This  poetry, 
however,  had  been  developed  out  of  Christianity: 
it  was  a  passion-flower  which  had  blossomed  from 
the  blood  of  Christ.  The  passion-flower  is  that 
motley-colored,  melancholy  flower  in  whose  calyx 
one  may  behold  a  counterfeit  presentment  of  the 
tools  used  at  the  crucifixion  of  Christ, — namely, 
hammer,  pincers,  and  nails.  This  flower  is  by  no 
means  unsightly,  but  only  spectral :  its  aspect  fills 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


159 


our  souls  with  a  dread  pleasure,  like  those  convul- 
sive, sweet  emotions  that  arise  from  grief.  In  this 
respect  the  passion-flower  would  be  the  fittest 
symbol  of  Christianity  itself,  whose  most  awe- 
inspiring  charm  consists  in  the  voluptuousness 
of  pain. 

*  *  *  Every  epoch  is  a  Sphinx,  which  plunges 
into  the  abyss  as  soon  as  its  problem  is  solved. 

*  *  *  We  by  no  means  deny  the  benefits  which 
the  Christian-Catholic  theory  of  the  universe  ef- 
fected.in  Europe.  It  was  needed  as  a  wholesome 
reaction  against  the  terrible,  colossal  materialism 
which  was  developed  in  the  Roman  empire  and 
threatened  the  annihilation  of  all  the  intellectual 
grandeur  of  mankind. 

*  *  *  The  flesh  had  become  so  insolent  in  this 
Roman  world  that  Christian  discipline  was  needed 
to  chasten  it.  After  the  banquet  of  a  Trimalkion, 
a  hunger-cure,  such  as  Christianity,  was  required. 

Or  did  perhaps  the  hoary  sensualists  seek  by 
scourgings  to  stimulate  the  cloyed  flesh  to  renewed 
capacity  for  enjoyment?  Did  aging  Rome  sub- 
mit to  monkish  flagellations  in  order  to  discover 
exquisite  pleasure  in  torture  itself,  voluptuous  bliss 
in  pain  ? 

Unfortunate  excess  !  It  robbed  the  Roman  body- 
politic  of  its  last  energies.  Rome  was  not  de- 
stroyed by  the  division  into  two  empires.  On 
the  Bosphorus,  as  on  the  Tiber,  Rome  was  eaten 


l6o  ^'-^^^   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

up  by  the  same  Judaic  spiritualism,  and  in  both, 
Roman  history  became  the  record  of  a  slow  dying- 
away,  a  death-agony  that  lasted  for  centuries.  Did 
perhaps  murdered  Judea,  by  bequeathing  its  spir- 
itualism to  the  Romans,  seek  to  avencre  itself  on 
the  victorious  foe,  as  did  the  dying  Centaur,  who  so 
cunningly  wheedled  the  son  of  Jupiter  into  wear- 
ing the  deadly  vestment  poisoned  with  his  own 
blood?  In  sooth,  Rome,  the  Hercules  among 
nations,  was  so  effectively  consumed  by  the  Judaic 
poison  that  helm  and  armor  fell  from  its  decaying 
limbs,  and  its  imperious  battle-tones  degenerated 
into  the  prayers  of  sniveling  priests  and  the  trilling 
of  eunuchs. 

But  that  which  enfeebles  the  aged  strengthens  the 
young.  That  spiritualism  had  a  wholesome  effect 
on  the  over-robust  races  of  the  North  ;  the  full- 
blooded  barbarians  became  spiritualized  through 
Christianity;  European  civilization  began.  This 
is  a  praiseworthy  and  sacred  phase  of  Christianity. 
The  Catholic  Church  earned,  in  this  regard,  the 
highest  title  to  our  respect  and  admiration. 
Through  grand,  genial  institutions  it  controlled 
the  bestiality  of  the  barbarian  hordes  of  the  North, 
and  tamed  their  brutal  materialism. 

The  works  of  art  in  the  Middle  Ages  give  evi- 
dence of  this  mastery  of  matter  by  the  spirit ;  and 
that  is  often  their  whole  purpose.  The  epic  poems 
of  that  time  I'nay  be  easily  classified  according  to 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  i6i 

the  degree  in  which  they  show  that  mastery.  Of 
lyric  and  dramatic  poems  nothing  is  here  to  be 
said ;  for  the  latter  do  not  exist,  and  the  former 
are  comparatively  as  much  alike  in  all  ages  as  are 
the  songs  of  the  nightingales  in  each  succeeding 
spring. 

*  >K  *  ^\\  |-]^g  poetry  of  the  Middle  Ages  has  a 
certain  definite  character,  through  which  it  differs 
from  the  poetry  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  In 
reference  to  this  difference,  the  former  is  called 
Romantic,  the  latter  classic.  These  names,  how- 
ever, are  misleading,  and  have  hitherto  caused  the 
most  vexatious  confusion,  which  is  even  increased 
when  we  call  the  antique  poetry  plastic  as  well  as 
classic.  In  this,  particularly,  lay  the  germ  of  mis- 
understandings; for  artists  ought  always  to  treat 
their  subject-matter  plastically.  Whether  it  be 
Christian  or  pagan,  the  subject  ought  to  be  por- 
trayed in  clear  contours.  In  short,  plastic  configu- 
ration should  be  the  main  requisite  in  the  modern 
Romantic  as  well  as  in  antique  art.  And,  in  fact, 
are  not  the  figures  in  Dante's  "  Divine  Comedy" 
or  in  the  paintings  of  Raphael  just  as  plastic  as 
those  in  Virgil  or  on  the  walls  of  Herculaneum  ? 
The  difference  consists  in  this, — that  the  plastic 
figures  in  antique  art  are  identical  with  the  thing 
represented,  with  the  idea  which  the  artist  seeks 
to  communicate.  Thus,  for  example,  the  wander- 
ings of  the  Odyssey  mean  nothing  else  than  the 


1 62  THE   ROMAXT/C  SCHOOL. 

wanderings  of  the  man  who  was  a  son  of  Laertes 
and  the  husband  of  Penelope  and  was  called 
Ulysses.  Thus,  again,  the  Bacchus  which  is  to 
be  seen  in  the  Louvre  is  nothing  more  than  the 
charming  son  of  Semele,  with  a  daring  melancholy 
look  in  his  eyes,  and  an  inspired  voluptuousness 
on  the  soft  arched  lips.  It  is  otherwise  in  Romantic 
art :  here  the  wanderings  of  a  knight  have  an 
esoteric  signification ;  they  typify,  perhaps,  the 
mazes  of  life  in  general.  The  dragon  that  is  van- 
quished is  sin  ;  the  almond-tree  that  from  afar  so 
encouragingly  wafts  its  fragrance  to  the  hero  is 
the  Trinity,  the  God-Father,  God-Son,  and  God- 
Holy-Ghost,  who  together  constitute  one,  just  as 
nut,  shell,  and  kernel  together  constitute  the 
almond.  When  Homer  describes  the  armor  of  a 
hero,  it  is  naught  else  than  a  good  armor,  which 
is  worth  so  many  oxen ;  but  when  a  monk  of  the 
Middle  Ages  describes  in  his  poem  the  garments 
of  the  Mother  of  God,  you  may  depend  upon  it 
that  by  each  fold  of  those  garments  he  typifies 
some  special  virtue,  and  that  a  peculiar  meaning 
lies  hidden  in  the  sacred  robes  of  the  Immaculate 
Virgin  Mary;  and  as  her  Son  is  the  kernel  of  the 
almond-nut,  she  is  quite  appropriately  described 
in  the  poem  as  an  almond-blossom.  Such  is  the 
character  of  that  poesy  of  the  Middle  Ages  which 
we  designate  "  Romantic."  Classic  art  had  to  por- 
trav  onl\'  tiie  finite,  and   its  forms  could  be  idcn- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


163 


tical  with  the  artist's  idea.  Romantic  art  had  to 
represent,  or  rather  to  typify,  the  infinite  and  the 
spiritual,  and  therefore  was  compelled  to  have 
recourse  to  a  system  of  traditional,  or  rather 
parabolic,  symbols,  just  as  Christ  himself  had  en- 
deavored to  explain  and  make  clear  his  spiritual 
meanings  through  beautiful  parables.  Hence  the 
mystic,  enigmatical  character  of  the  art-produc- 
tions of  the  Middle  Ages.  Fancy  strives  fran- 
tically to  portray  through  concrete  images  that 
which  is  purely  spiritual,  and  in  the  vain  endeavor 
invents  the  most  colossal  absurdities:  it  piles  Ossa 
on  Pelion  to  reach  heaven. 

Similar  monstrous  abortions  of  imafjination  have 
been  produced  by  the  Scandinavians,  the  Hindoos, 
and  the  other  races  which  likewise  strive  through 
poetry  to  represent  the  infinite;  among  them  also 
do  we  find  poems  which  may  be  regarded  as  Ro- 
mantic. 

*  *  *  But  human  genius  can  transfigure  de- 
formity itself,  and  many  painters  succeeded  in 
accomplishing  the  unnatural  task  beautifully  and 
sublimely.  The  Italians,  in  particular,  glorified 
beauty, — it  is  true,  somewhat  at  the  expense  of 
spirituality, — and  raised  themselves  aloft  to  an 
ideality  which  reached  its  perfection  in  the  many 
representations  of  the  Madonna.  Where  it  con- 
cerned the  Madonna,  the  Catholic  clergy  always 
made  some  concessions  to  sensuality.    This  image 


64 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


of  an  immaculate  beauty,  transfigured  by  motherly 
love  and  sorrow,  was  privileged  to  receive  the 
homage  of  poet  and  painter,  and  to  be  decked 
with  all  the  charms  that  could  allure  the  senses. 
For  this  image  was  a  magnet,  which  was  to  draw 
the  great  masses  into  the  pale  of  Christianity. 
Madonna  Maria  was  the  pretty  daine-du-coinptoir  oi 
the  Catholic  Church,  whose  customers,  especially 
the  barbarians  of  the  North,  she  attracted  and  held 
fast  by  her  celestial  smiles. 

During  the  Middle  Ages  architecture  was  of  the 
same  character  as  the  other  arts  ;  for,  indeed,  at 
that  period  all  manifestations  of  life  harmonized 
most  wonderfully.  In  architecture,  as  in  poetry, 
the  parabolizing  tendency  was  evident.  Now,  when 
we  enter  an  old  cathedral,  we  have  scarcely  a  hint 
of  the  esoteric  meaning  of  its  stony  symbolism. 
Only  the  general  impression  forces  itself  on  our 
mind.  We  feel  the  exaltation  of  the  spirit  and 
the'  abasement  of  the  flesh.  The  interior  of  the 
cathedral  is  a  hollow  cross,  and  we  walk  here  amid 
the  instruments  of  martyrdom  itself  The  varie- 
gated windows  cast  on  us  their  red  and  green 
lights,  like  drops  of  blood  and  ichor;  requiems 
for  the  dead  resound  through  the  aisles  ;  under  our 
feet  are  grave-stones  and  decay;  in  harmony  with 
the  colossal  pillars  the  soul  soars  aloft,  painfully 
tearing  itself  away  from  the  body,  which  sinks  to 
the  ground  like  a  cast-off  garment.      When  one 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


165 


views  from  without  these  Gothic  cathedrals,  these 
immense  structures,  that  are  built  so  airily,  so 
delicately,  so  daintily,  as  transparent  as  if  carved, 
like  Brabant  laces  made  of  marble,  then  only  does 
one  realize  the  might  of  that  age  which  could 
achieve  a  mastery  over  stone,  so  that  even  this 
stubborn  substance  should  appear  spectrally  ethe- 
realized  and  be  an  exponent  of  Christian  spiritual- 
ism. 

But  the  arts  are  only  the  mirror  of  life ;  and  when 
Catholicism  disappeared  from  daily  life,  so  also  it 
faded  and  vanished  out  of  the  arts.  At  the  time 
of  the  Reformation,  Catholic  poetry  was  gradually 
dying  out  in  Europe,  and  in  its  place  we  behold 
the  long-buried  Grecian  style  of  poetry  again  re- 
viving. It  was,  in  sooth,  only  an  artificial  spring, 
the  work  of  the  gardener,  and  not  of  the  sun  :  the 
trees  and  flowers  were  stuck  in  narrow  pots,  and 
a  glass  sky  protected  them  from  wind  and  cold 
weather. 

In  the  world's  history  every  event  is  not  the 
direct  consequence  of  another,  but  all  events  mutu- 
ally act  and  react  on  one  another.  It  was  not  alone 
through  the  Greek  scholars  who,  after  the  con- 
quest of  Constantinople,  immigrated  over  to  us,  that 
the  taste  for  Grecian  art,  and  the  striving  to  imitate 
it,  became  universal  among  us ;  but  in  art,  as  in 
life,  there  was  stirring  a  cotemporary  Protestant- 
ism.    Leo  X.,  the  magnificent  Medici,  was  just  as 


1 66  THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

zealous  a  Protestant  as  Luther;  and  as  in  Wit- 
tenburg  protest  was  offered  in  Latin  prose,  so  in 
Rome  the  protest  was  made  in  stone,  colors,  and 
ottava  rhymes.  For  do  not  the  vigorous  marble 
statues  of  Michael  Angelo,  Giulio  Romano's  laugh- 
ing nymph-faces,  and  the  life-intoxicated  merri- 
ment in  the  verses  of  Master  Ludovico,  offer  a 
protesting  contrast  to  the  old,  gloomy,  withered 
Catholicism  ?  The  painters  of  Italy  combated 
priestdom  more  effectively,  perhaps,  than  did  the 
Saxon  theologians.  The  glowing  flesh  in  the 
paintings  of  Titian, — all  that  is  simple  Protestant- 
ism. 

Titian's  Venus  is  a  much  more  forcible  and 
better-grounded  treatise  than  that  which  the  Ger- 
man monk  nailed  to  the  church- door  of  Witten- 
burg.  Mankind  felt  itself  suddenly  liberated,  as  it 
were,  from  the  thraldom  of  a  thousand  years  ;  the 
artists,  in  particular,  breathed  freely  again  when 
the  Alp-like  burden  of  Christianity  was  rolled  from 
off  their  breasts;  they  plunged  enthusiastically 
into  the  sea  of  Grecian  mirthfulness,  from  whose 
foam  the  goddess  of  beauty  again  rose  to  meet 
them  ;  again  did  the  painters  depict  the  ambrosial 
joys  of  Olympus  ;  once  more  did  the  sculptors,  with 
the  olden  love,  chisel  the  heroes  of  antiquity  from 
out  the  marble  blocks ;  again  did  the  poets  sing 
of  the  house  of  Atreus  and  of  Laius  ;  a  new  era 
of  classic  poetry  arose. 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


167 


In  France,  under  Louis  XIV.,  this  new-classic 
poetry  exhibited  a  polished  finish,  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  even  originality.  Through  the  political 
influence  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  this  new-classic 
poetry  spread  over  the  rest  of  Europe.  In  Italy, 
where  it  was  already  at  home,  it  received  a  French 
coloring;  the  Anjous  brought  with  them  to  Spain 
the  heroes  of  French  tragedy  ;  they  accompanied 
Madame  Henriette  to  England;  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  we  Germans  modeled  our  clumsy  temple 
of  art  after  the  Olympus  of  Versailles,  even  going 
so  far  in  our  servile  imitations  as  to  adopt  the 
powdered  wigs. 

*  *  *  Lessing  was  the  literary  Arminius  who 
emancipated  our  theatre  from  that  foreign  rule. 
He  showed  us  the  vapidness,  the  ridiculousness, 
the  tastelessness,  of  those  apings  of  the  French 
stage,  which  itself  was  but  an  imitation  of  the 
Greek.  But  not  only  by  his  critiques,  but  also 
through  his  own  works  of  art,  did  he  become 
the  founder  of  modern  German  original  literature. 
All  the  paths  of  the  intellect,  all  the  phases  of  life, 
did  this  man  pursue  with  disinterested  enthusiasm. 
Art,  theology,  antiquarianism,  poetry,  dramatic 
criticism,  history, — he  studied  these  all  with  the 
same  zeal  and  with  the  same  aim.  In  all  his 
works  breathes  the  same  grand  social  idea,  the 
same  progressive  humanity,  the  same  religion  of 
reason,  whose  John  he  was,  and  whose  Messiah  we 


1 58  THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

yet  await.  This  religion  he  preached  always,  but, 
alas  !  often  quite  alone  and  in  the  desert.  More- 
over, he  lacked  the  skill  to  transmute  stones  into 
bread.  The  greater  portion  of  his  life  was  spent  in 
poverty  and  misery, — a  curse  which  rests  on  almost 
all  the  great  minds  of  Germany. 

*  *  *  Lessing  was  a  whole  man,  who,  while  with 
his  polemics  waging  destructive  battle  against  the 
old,  at  the  same  time  created  something  newer 
and  better.  *'  He  resembled,"  says  a  German 
author,  "  those  pious  Jews  who,  at  the  second 
building  of  the  temple,  were  often  disturbed  by 
the  attacks  of  their  enemies,  and  with  one  hand 
would  fight  against  the  foe  while  with  the  other 
hand  they  continued  to  work  at  the  house  of 
God."  In  the  whole  range  of  literary  history, 
Lessing  is  the  author  whom  I  most  love. 

*  *  *  The  history  of  literature  is  a  great  morgue, 
wherein  each  seeks  the  dead  who  are  near  or  dear 
to  him.  And  when  among  the  corpses  of  so  many 
petty  men  I  behold  the  noble  features  of  a  Les- 
sing or  a  Herder,  my  heart  throbs  with  emotion. 
How  could  I  pass  you  without  pressing  a  hasty 
kiss  on  your  pale  lips  ? 

*  *  *  But  if  Lessing  effectually  put  an  end  to 
the  servile  apings  of  Franco-Grecian  art,  yet,  by 
directing  attention  to  the  true  art-works  of  Grecian 
antiquity,  he  gave  an  impetus  to  a  new  and  equally 
silly  species  of  imitation. 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL, 


169 


The  most  wretched  mediocrity  began  again  to 
raise  its  head,  more  disgustingly  than  ever.  Im- 
becility, vapidity,  and  the  commonplace  distended 
themselves  like  the  frog  in  the  fable. 

*  '^  *  It  was  against  this  literature  that,  in  the 
closing  years  of  the  last  century,  there  arose  in 
Germany  a  new  school,  which  we  have  designated 
the  Romantic  school.  At  the  head  of  this  school 
stand  the  brothers  August  William  and  Frederic 
Schlegel.  Jena  was  the  central  point  from  which 
the  new  aesthetic  dogma  radiated.  I  advisedly  say 
dogma,  for  this  school  began  with  a  criticism  of 
the  art-productions  of  the  past  and  with  recipes 
for  the  art-works  of  the  future.  In  the  first  re- 
spect, the  Schlegelian  school  has  rendered  great 
service  to  aesthetic  criticism  ;  but  its  recipes  for  the 
production  of  future  masterpieces  of  art  were  an 
utter  failure. 

*  *  *  But  if  the  Schlegels  could  give  no  definite, 
reliable  theory  for  the  masterpieces  which  they 
bespoke  of  the  poets  of  their  school,  they  atoned 
for  these  shortcomings  by  commending  as  models 
the  best  works  of  art  of  the  past,  and  by  making 
them  accessible  to  their  disciples.  These  were 
chiefly  the  Christian-Catholic  productions  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  translation  of  Shakspeare,  who 
stands  at  the  frontier  of  this  art  and  with  Protest- 
ant clearness  smiles  over  into  our  modern  era,  was 
undertaken  by  A.  VV.  Schlegel  at  a  time  when  the 

15* 


70 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


enthusiasm  for  the  Middle  Ages  had  not  yet  reached 
its  most  extravagant  height.  Later,  when  this  did 
occur,  Caldcron  was  translated,  and  ranked  far 
above  Shakspeare.  For  the  works  of  Calderon  bear 
most  distinctly  the  impress  of  the  poetry  of  the 
Middle  Ages, — particularly  of  the  two  principal 
epochs,  knight-errantry  and  monkdom.  The  pious 
comedies  of  the  Castilian  priest-poet,  whose  poet- 
ical flowers  had  been  besprinkled  with  holy  water 
and  canonical  perfumes,  with  all  their  pious  gran- 
dezza,  with  all  their  sacerdotal  splendor,  with  all 
their  sanctimonious  balderdash,  were  now  set  up 
as  models,  and  Germany  swarmed  with  fantastically 
pious,  insanely  profound  poems,  over  which  it  was 
the  fashion  to  work  one's  self  into  a  mystic  ecstasy 
of  admiration,  resembling  the  devotion  to  the  cross 
or  to  the  Madonna.  Zacharias  Werner  carried  the 
nonsense  as  far  as  it  might  be  safely  done  without 
being  imprisoned  by  the  authorities  in  a  lunatic- 
asylum.  Our  poetry,  said  the  Schlegels,  is  super- 
annuated ;  our  muse  is  an  old  and  wrinkled  hag; 
our  Cupid  is  no  fair  youth,  but  a  shrunken,  gray- 
haired  dwarf  Our  emotions  are  withered;  our 
imagination  is  dried  up  :  we  must  re-invigorate  our- 
selves. We  must  seek  again  the  choked-up  springs 
of  the  naive,  simple  poetry  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
where  bubbles  the  elixir  of  youth.  When  the 
parched,  thirsty  multitude  heard  this,  they  did  not 
long  delay.     They  were  eager  to  be  again  young 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


171 


and  blooming,  and,  hastening  to  those  miraculous 
waters,  quaffed  and  gulped  with  intemperate  greedi- 
ness. But  the  same  fate  befell  them  as  happened 
to  the  aged  waiting-maid  who  noticed  that  her 
mistress  possessed  a  magic  elixir  which  restored 
youth.  During  her  lady's  absence  she  took  from 
the  toilette  drawer  the  small  flagon  which  con- 
tained the  elixir,  but,  instead  of  drinking  only  a 
few  drops,  she  took  a  long  deep  draught,  so  that 
through  the  magic  power  of  the  rejuvenating  bev- 
erage she  became  not  only  young  again,  but  even 
a  puny,  puling  babe. 

*  *  */  The  political  condition  of  Germany  was 
particularly  favorable  to  the  tendencies  of  the  Ro- 
mantic school,  which  sought  to  introduce  a  national- 
religious  literature,  similar  to  that  which  had  pre- 
vailed in  Germany  during  the  Middle  Ages.  "  Need 
teaches  prayer,"  says  the  proverb  ;  and  truly  never 
was  the  need  greater  in  Germany.  Hence  the 
masses  were  more  than  ever  inclined  to  prayer, 
to  religion,  to  Christianity.  No  people  is  more  at- 
tached to  its  rulers  than  are  the  Germans.  And 
more  even  than  the  sorrowful  condition  to  which 
the  country  was  reduced  through  war  and  foreign 
rule  did  the  mournful  spectacle  of  their  vanquished 
princes,  creeping  at  the  feet  of  Napoleon,  afflict 
and  grieve  the  Germans,  The  whole  nation  resem- 
bled those  faithful  old  servants  in  once  great  but 
now  reduced  families,  who  feel  more  keenly  than 


1/2 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


even  their  masters  all  the  humiliations  to  which 
the  latter  are  exposed,  and  who  in  secret  weep  most 
bitterly  when  the  family  silver  is  to  be  sold,  and 
who  clandestinely  contribute  their  pitiful  savings,  so 
that  patrician  wax  candles  and  not  plebeian  tallow 
dips  shall  grace  the  family  tabic; — just  as  we  see 
it  so  touchingly  depicted  in  the  old  plays.  The 
universal  sadness  found  consolation  in  religion, 
and  there  ensued  a  pious  resignation  to  the  will  of 
God,  from  whom  alone  help  could  come.  And,  in 
fact,  against  Napoleon  none  could  help  but  God 
himself.  No  reliance  could  be  placed  on  the 
earthly  legions :  hence  all  eyes  were  religiously 
turned  to  heaven. 

At  a  period  when  the  crusade  against  Napo- 
leon was  forming,  a  school  which  was  inimical  to 
everything  French,  and  which  exalted  everything 
in  art  and  life  that  was  Teutonic,  could  not  help 
achieving  great  popularity.  The  Romantic  school 
at  that  time  went  hand  in  hand  with  the  machina- 
tions of  the  government  and  the  secret  societies, 
and  A.  W.  Schlcgel  conspired  against  Racine  with 
the  same  aim  that  Minister  Stein  plotted  against 
Napoleon.  This  school  of  literature  floated  with 
the  stream  of  the  times;  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
stream  that  flowed  backwards  to  its  source.  When 
finally  German  patriotism  and  nationality  were  vic- 
torious, the  popular  Tcutonic-Christian-Romantic 
school,    "The    New- German -Religious -Patriotic 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


173 


Art-School,"  triumphed  also.  Napoleon,  the  great 
classic,  who  was  as  classic  as  Alexander  or  Caesar, 
was  overthrown,  and  August  William  and  Fred- 
eric Schlegel,  the  petty  Romanticists,  who  were 
as  romantic  as  Tom  Thumb  and  Puss  in  Boots, 
strutted  about  as  victors. 

But  the  reaction  which  always  follows  excess 
was  in  this  case  not  long  in  coming.  As  the  spir- 
itualism of  Christianity  was  a  reaction  against  the 
brutal,  despotic,  imperial  Roman  materialism  ;  as 
the  revival  of  the  love  for  Grecian  art  and  science 
is  to  be  regarded  as  a  reaction  against  the  extrava- 
gances of  Christian  spiritualism ;  as  the  Roman- 
ticism of  the  Middle  Ages  may  also  be  considered 
as  a  reaction  against  the  vapid  apings  of  antique 
classic  art ;  so  also  do  we  now  behold  a  reaction 
against  the  re-introduction  of  that  Catholic,  feudal 
mode  of  thought,  of  that  knight-errantry  and  priest- 
dom,  which  were  being  inculcated  through  litera- 
ture and  the  pictorial  arts,  under  such  strange  and 
bewildering  circumstances. 

For  when  the  artists  of  the  Middle  Ages  were 
recommended  as  models,  and  were  so  highly 
praised  and  admired,  the  only  explanation  of  their 
superiority  that  could  be  given  was  that  these  men 
believed  in  that  which  they  depicted,  and  that, 
therefore,  with  their  artless  conceptions  the}'  could 
accomplish  more  than  the  later  skeptical  artists, 
notwithstanding  that  the  latter  excelled  in  techni- 


174 


THE    ROMAXTIC  SCHOOL. 


cal  skill.  In  short,  it  was  claimed  that  faith  worked 
wonders.  Hence  the  artists  who  were  honest  in 
their  devotion  to  art,  and  who  sought  to  imitate 
the  pious  distortions  of  those  miraculous  pictures, 
the  sacred  uncouthness  of  those  marvel-abounding 
poems,  and  the  inexplicable  mysticisms  of  those 
olden  works, — these  artists  determined  to  wander 
to  the  same  Hippocrene  whence  the  old  masters 
had  derived  their  supernatural  inspiration.  They 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  where  the  vicegerent 
of  Christ  was  to  re-invigorate  consumptive  German 
art  with  asses'  milk.  In  brief,  they  betook  them- 
selves to  the  lap  of  the  Roman-Catholic-Apostolic 
Church,  where  alone,  according  to  their  doctrine, 
salvation  was  to  be  secured. 

*  *  *  While  the  Romantic  school  was  severely 
damaged  in  public  opinion  by  the  discovery  of 
its  Catholic  tendencies,  about  the  same  time  it  re- 
ceived an  utterly  crushing  blow  in  its  own  temple, 
and  that,  too,  from  one  of  those  gods  whom  itself 
had  enshrined  there.  For  it  was  Wolfgang  Goethe 
who  descended  from  his  pedestal  to  pronounce  the 
doom  of  the  Schlegels,  the  very  high-priests  who 
had  offered  him  so  much  incense.  That  voice  an- 
nihilated the  whole  pack  of  hobgoblins  ;  the  spec- 
tres of  the  Middle  Ages  fled;  the  owls  crept  again 
into  their  obscure  castle  ruins,  and  the  ravens  flut- 
tered back  to  their  old  church-steeples.  Frederic 
Schlegel  went  to  V^ienna,  where  he  attended  mass 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


175 


daily  and  ate  broiled  fowl ;  August  William  Schle- 
gel  withdrew  into  the  pagoda  of  Brahma. 

*  *  *  Perhaps  Goethe,  with  his  clear  insight, 
was  vexed  that  the  Schlegels  should  seek  to  use 
him  as  an  instrument  to  accomplish  their  projects. 
Perhaps  those  projects  threatened  to  compromise 
him  as  the  minister  of  a  Protestant  state.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  ancient  pagan  godlike  wVath  that 
awoke  in  him  at  sight  of  the  mouldy  Catholic 
follies.  For  as  Voss  resembled  the  stalwart  one- 
eyed  Odin,  so  did  Goethe,  in  form  and  figure,  re- 
semble great  Jupiter.  The  former  was  compelled 
to  pound  long  and  vigorously  with  his  Thor's 
hammer;  the  latter  needed  but  angrily  to  shake 
his  majestic  head,  with  its  ambrosial  locks,  and 
the  Schlegels  trembled  and  crept  out  of  sight. 

A  public  statement  of  Goethe's  opposition  to  the 
Romantic  school  appeared  in  his  journal,  "  Kunst 
und  Alterthum."  With  this  article  Goethe  made 
his  Eighteenth  Brumaire  in  German  literature,  for 
by  chasing  the  Schlegels  so  summarily  out  of  the 
temple,  and  attaching  to  himself  so  many  of  their 
young  and  zealous  disciples,  and  being  hailed  with 
acclamation  by  the  public,  to  whom  the  Schlegclian 
Directory  had  long  been  obnoxious,  Goethe  estab- 
lished his  autocratic  sovereignty  in  German  liter- 
ature. From  that  hour  nothing  more  was  heard 
of  the  Schlegels.  Only  now  and  then  their  names 
were  mentioned,  just  as  one  sometimes  casually 


76 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


speaks  of  Barras  or  of  Gohier,  Neither  Romantic 
nor  classic  poetry  was  henceforth  spoken  of:  it 
was  nothing  but  Goethe  here,  Goethe  there,  and 
Goethe  everywhere.  It  is  true  that  several,  other 
poets  arose  in  the  mean  time  who  in  power  and 
imagination  were  but  little  inferior  to  Goethe. 
But  out  of  courtesy  they  acknowledged  him  as 
their  chief;  they  paid  homage  to  him,  they  kissed 
his  hand,  they  knelt  before  him.  These  grandees 
of  Parnassus  differed  from  the  common  multitude 
in  being  permitted  to  wear  their  laurel-wreaths  in 
Goethe's  presence.  Sometimes  they  even  attacked 
him  ;  but  they  were  always  vexed  when  one  of  the 
lesser  ones  ventured  to  assail  him.  No  matter 
how  angry  aristocrats  are  with  their  sovereign, 
they  are  always  displeased  when  the  plebeians 
also  dare  to  revolt.  And  in  truth  the  aristocrats 
of  intellect  had,  during  the  last  twenty  years,  very 
good  reasons  to  be  irritated  against  Goethe.  As 
I  myself  unreservedly  remarked  at  the  time,  not 
without  bitterness,  "  Goethe  resembled  Louis  XI.  of 
France,  who  abased  the  powerful  nobility  and  ex- 
alted the  tiers-etat."  That  was  despicable.  Goethe 
feared  every  writer  of  independence  and  original- 
ity, but  glorified  and  praised  all  the  petty  author- 
lings.  He  carried  this  so  far  that  to  be  praised  by 
Goethe  came  at  last  to  be  considered  a  brevet  of 
mediocrity. 

Later  I  shall  speak  of  the  new  poets  who  grew 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  iy>j 

up  during  the  Goethean  imperialism.  They  con- 
stitute a  forest  of  young  trees,  whose  true  magni- 
tude has  become  perceptible  only  since  the  fall  of 
that  century-old  oak  by  whose  branches  they  had 
been  so  completely  overtopped  and  overshadowed. 
As  already  stated,  there  was  not  lacking  a  bitter 
and  zealous  opposition  against  Goethe,  that  giant 
oak.  Men  of  the  most  diverse  opinions  were 
banded  together  in  this  opposition.  The  orthodox 
were  vexed  that  in  the  trunk  of  this  great  tree 
there  was  no  niche  provided  for  the  statuettes  of 
the  saints,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  even  the 
nude  dryads  of  heathendom  were  permitted  to 
carry  on  their  witchery  beneath  it.  The  pietists 
would  gladly  have  imitated  St.  Boniface,  and  with 
consecrated  ax  have  felled  this  magic  oak.  The 
liberals,  on  the  other  hand,  were  indignant  that 
they  could  not  use  it  as  a  liberty-tree  and  as  a 
barricade.  But,  in  truth,  the  tree  was  too  lofty 
to  have  a  red  cap  placed  on  its  top,  or  to  have  a 
Carmagnole  danced  under  it.  But  the  public  at 
large  honored  it  just  because  it  was  so  stately  and 
independent;  because  it  filled  the  whole  world 
with  its  delicious  fragrance ;  because  its  branches 
towered  majestically  to  the  heavens,  so  that  the 
stars  seemed  to  be  merely  the  golden  fruit  of  the 
great  and  beautiful  tree. 

*  *  *  The  Goetheans  viewed  art  as  a  separate, 
independent  world,  which  they  would  rank  so  high 

i6 


1/8 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


that  all  the  changing  and  changeable  doings  of 
mankind  should  surge  far  below  it.  I  cannot  un- 
conditionally indorse  this  view;  but  the  Goetheans 
were  led  so  far  astray  by  it  as  to  proclaim  art  in 
and  of  itself  as  the  highest  good.  Thus  they  were 
induced  to  hold  themselves  aloof  from  the  claims 
of  the  world  of  reality,  which,  after  all,  is  entitled 
to  precedence. 

Schiller  united  himself  to  the  world  of  reality 
much  more  decidedly  than  did  Goethe;  and  he 
deserves  praise  for  this.  The  living  spirit  of  the 
times  thrilled  through  Frederic  Schiller  ;  it 
wrestled  with  him  ;  it  vanquished  him  ;  he  fol- 
lowed it  to  battle ;  he  bore  its  banner,  and,  lo !  it 
was  the  same  banner  under  which  the  conflict  was 
being  enthusiastically  waged  across  the  Rhine, 
and  for  which  we  are  always  ready  to  shed  our 
hearts*  best  blood.  Schiller  wrote  for  the  grand 
ideas  of  the  Revolution;  he  razed  the  Bastilles  of 
the  intellect ;  he  helped  to  erect  the  temple  of 
freedom,  that  colossal  temple  which  shelters  all 
nations  like  a  single  congregation  of  brothers  :  in 
brief,  he  was  a  cosmopolitan. 

He  began  his  career  with  that  hate  of  the  past 
which  we  behold  in  "  The  Robbers."  In  this 
work  he  resembles  a  diminutive  Titan  who  has 
run  away  from  school,  got  tipsy  with  schnapps, 
and  throws  stones  at  Jupiter's  windows.  He  ended 
with  that  love  for  the  future  which  already  in  his 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  jyg 

"Don  Carlos"  blossoms  forth  like  a  field  of  flow- 
ers. Schiller  is  himself  that  Marquis  Posa  who  is 
simultaneously  prophet  and  soldier,  and  battles  for 
that  which  he  foretells.  Under  that  Spanish  cloak 
throbs  the  noblest  heart  that  ever  loved  and  suf- 
fered in  Germany. 

The  poet  is,  on  a  small  scale,  but  the  imitator  of 
the  Creator,  and  also  resembles  God  in  creating  ^ 
his  characters  after  his  own  image.  If,  therefore, 
Carl  Moor  and  the  Marquis  Posa  are  wholly  Schiller 
himself,  so  in  like  manner  does  Goethe  resemble 
his  Werther,  his  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  his  Faust, 
in  whom  the  different  phases  of  his  intellect  can 
be  studied.  While  Schiller  devotes  himself  to  the 
history  of  the  race,  and  becomes  an  enthusiast  for 
the  social  progress  of  mankind,  Goethe,  on  the 
other  hand,  applies  himself  to  the  study  of  the 
individual,  to  nature  and  to  art.  The  physical 
sciences  must  of  necessity  have  finally  become  a 
leading  branch  of  study  with  Goethe  the  pantheist, 
and  in  his  poems,  as  well  as  in  his  scientific  works, 
he  gave  us  the  result  of  his  researches.  His  in- 
differentism  was  to  a  certain  extent  the  result  of 
his  pantheistic  views.  But  God  does  not  manifest 
himself  in  all  things  equally,  as  Wolfgang  Goethe 
believed,  who  through  such  a  belief  became  an 
indifferentist,  and,  instead  of  devoting  himself  to 
the  highest  interests  of  humanity,  occupied  him- 
self with  art,  anatomy,  theories  of  color,  botanical 


( 


I  So  ^'-^-^^   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

studies,  and  observations  of  the  clouds.  No,  God 
is  manifest  in  some  things  to  a  greater  degree  than 
in  others.  He  h'vcs  in  motion,  in  action,  in  time. 
His  holy  breath  is  wafted  through  the  pages  of 
history,  which  is  God's  true  record-book.  Fred- 
eric Schiller  felt  this,  and  became  an  historian,  a 
"  prophet  of  the  past,"  and  wrote  the  *'  Revolt  of 
the  Netherlands,"  the  "Thirty  Years'  War,"  the 
"  Maid  of  Orleans,"  and  "  William  Tell." 

It  is  true  Goethe  also  depicted  a  few  of  the 
great  struggles  of  freedom,  but  he  portrayed  them 
as  an  artist.  He  became  the  greatest  artist  of  our 
literature,  and  all  that  he  WTote  was  a  finished  work 
of  art. 

The  example  of  the  master  misled  the  youth, 
and  there  arose  in  Germany  that  literary  epoch 
which  I  once  designated  as  the  "  Art  Period,"  and 
which,  as  I  then  showed,  had  a  most  disastrous 
influence  on  the  political  development  of  the  Ger- 
man people.  At  the  same  time,  I  by  no  means 
deny  the  intrinsic  worth  of  the  Goethean  master- 
pieces. They  adorn  our  beloved  fatherland,  just 
as  beautiful  statues  embellish  a  garden  ;  but  they 
are  only  statues,  after  all.  One  may  fall  in  love 
with  them,  but  they  are  barren.  Goethe's  poems 
do  not,  like  Schiller's,  beget  deeds.  Deeds  are  the 
offspring  of  words  ;  but  Goethe's  pretty  words  are 
childless.  That  is  the  curse  of  all  that  which  has 
originated  in  mere  art.      The   statue  which  Pyg- 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  jgi 

malion  wrought  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  even 
the  sculptor  fell  in  love  with  her.  His  kisses 
warmed  her  into  life,  but,  so  far  as  we  know,  she 
never  bore  children.  This  thought  came  into  my 
mind  while  wandering  through  the  Louvre,  as  my 
glance  alighted  on  the  statues  of  the  ancient  gods. 
There  they  stood,  with  their  white,  expression- 
less eyes,  a  mysterious  melancholy  in  their  stony 
smiles.  Perhaps  they  are  haunted  by  sad  memo- 
ries of  Egypt,  that  land  of  the  dead  from  which 
they  came ;  or  perhaps  it  is  a  mournful  longing  for 
the  life  from  which  other  divinities  have  expelled 
them,  or  a  grieving  over  their  immortality  of  death. 
They  seem  to  be  awaiting  the  word  that  shall  lib- 
erate them  from  their  cold,  motionless  rigidity 
and  bring  them  back  to  life.  How  strange  that 
these  antique  statues  should  remind  me  of  the 
Goethean  creations,  which  are  likewise  so  perfect, 
so  beautiful,  so  motionless!  and  which  also  seem 
oppressed  with  a  dumb  grieving  that  their  rigidity 
and  coldness  separate  them  from  our  present  warm, 
restless  life, — that  they  cannot  speak  and  rejoice 
with  us,  and  that  they  are  not  human  beings,  but 
unhappy  mixtures  of  divinity  and  stone. 

"^  "='  "^^  I  assailed  in  Goethe  only  the  man,  never 
the  poet.  Unlike  those  critics  who  with  their 
finely-polished  glasses  claim  to  have  also  detected 
spots  upon  the  moon,  I  could  never  discern  blem- 
ishes in  Goethe's  works.  What  these  sharp-sighted 
1 6* 


1 82  'THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

people  consider  spots  are  blooming  forests,  silvery- 
streams,  lofty  mountains,  and  smiling  valleys. 

Nothing  is  more  foolish  than  to  depreciate 
Goethe  in  order  thereby  to  exalt  Schiller.  Do 
such  critics  really  not  know  that  those  highly 
extolled,  highly  idealized  figures,  those  sacred  pic- 
tures of  virtue  and  morality  which  Schiller  pro- 
duced were  much  easier  to  construct  than  those 
frail  worldly  beings  of  whom  Goethe  gives  us  a 
glimpse  in  his  works?  Do  they  not  know  that 
mediocre  painters  generally  select  sacred  subjects, 
which  they  daub  in  life-size  on  the  canvas?  But 
it  requires  a  great  master  to  paint  with  life-like 
fidelity  and  technical  perfection  a  Spanish  beggar- 
boy  scratching  himself,  or  a  Netherlandish  peasant 
having  a  tooth  extracted,  or  some  hideous  old 
woman  such  as  we  see  in  Dutch  cabinet  pictures. 
In  art,  it  is  much  easier  to  picture  large  tragic 
subjects  than  those  which  are  small  and  droll.  The 
Egyptian  sorcerers  could  imitate  Moses  in  many 
of  his  magic  feats :  they  could  make  serpents, 
and  blood,  and  frogs;  but  when  Moses  created 
vermin,  which  would  seemingly  be  less  difficult 
to  copy,  then  they  confessed  their  impotence,  and 
said,  *'  That  is  the  finger  of  God." 

Rail  as  ye  will  at  the  coarseness  of  certain  por- 
tions of  **  Faust,"  at  the  scenes  on  the  Brocken 
and  in  Auerbach's  cellar,  inveigh  against  the  licen- 
tiousness in  "  Wilhclni  Meister."  it  is  nevertheless 


THE  JfO-VANTIC  SCHOOL. 


183 


more  than  ye  can  do  ;  that  is  the  finger  of  Goethe! 
But  I  hear  you  say,  "  We  do  not  wish  to  create 
such  things.  We  are  no  sorcerers ;  we  are  good 
Christians."  That  ye  are  no  sorcerers  I  know  full 
well. 

Goethe's  greatest  merit  consists  in  the  perfect  ^ 
finish  of  all  his  works.  Here  are  no  portions  that 
are  strong  while  others  are  weak ;  here  no  one 
part  is  painted  in  detail  while  another  is  merely 
slurred  over ;  here  is  no  confusion,  nor  any  of  the 
customary  padding,  nor  any  undue  partiality  for 
certain  special  characters.  Goethe  treats  every 
person  that  appears  in  his  romances  and  dramas 
as  if  he  or  she  were  the  leading  character.  So  it 
is  with  Homer,  so  with  Shakspeare.  Such  poets 
are  absolute  monarchs,  and  resemble  the  Emperor 
Paul  of  Russia,  who,  when  the  French  ambassador 
remarked  that  a  man  of  importance  in  his  empire 
was  interested  in  a  certain  matter,  sharply  inter- 
rupted the  speaker  with  the  memorable  words,  "In  ^ 
my  empire  there  is  no  man  of  importance  except 
he  to  whom  I  may  happen  to  be  speaking;  and  he 
is  of  importance  only  so  long  as  I  address  him." 
An  absolute  poet,  who  also  holds  power  by  the 
grace  of  God,  in  like  manner  views  that  person  in 
his  intellectual  realm  as  the  most  important  who 
at  that  particular  moment  is  speaking  through  his 
pen.  From  this  art-despotism  arises  that  wonder- 
ful perfection  of  the  most  trivial  and  unimportant 


1 84 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


figures   which   we   find  in  the   works   of   Homer, 
Shakspeare,  and  Goethe. 

*  *  *  That  harmony  of  personal  appearance  with 
genius  which  we  demand  in  eminent  men  existed 
in  its  fullest  degree  in  Goethe.  His  outward  ap- 
pearance was  as  impressive  as  the  thoughts  that 
live  in  his  writings.  His  figure  was  symmetrical 
and  majestic,  and  in  that  noble  form  Grecian  art 
might  be  studied  as  in  an  ancient  statue.  His 
eyes  had  a  godlike  steadfastness,  for  it  is  in  general 
the  distinctive  mark  of  a  god  that  his  look  is  un- 
moved. Napoleon's  eyes  possessed  this  trait,  and 
hence  I  am  convinced  that  he  also  was  a  god. 
Goethe's  eyes,  even  at  an  advanced  age,  remained 
just  as  godlike  as  in  his  youth,  and  although  time 
could  whiten  it  could  not  bow  that  noble  head. 
He  always  bore  himself  proudly  and  majestically, 
and  when  he  spoke  he  seenied  to  grow  statelier 
stUl,  and  when  he  stretched  out  his  hand  it  seemed 
as  though  he  could  prescribe  to  the  stars  the  paths 
they  should  traverse.  It  is  said  that  a  cold,  egotis- 
tic twitching  might  be  observed  around  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  But  this  trait  is  also  peculiar  to  the 
eternal  gods,  and  especially  to  the  father  of  gods, 
great  Jupiter,  to  whom  I  have  already  likened 
Goethe.  When  I  visited  him  at  Weimar,  I  in- 
voluntarily glanced  around,  to  see  if  I  might  not 
behold  at  his  side  the  eagle  with  the  thunderbolt 
in  its  beak.     I  was  about  to  address  him  in  Greek, 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


85 


but,  as  I  noticed  that  he  understood  German,  I  told 
him  in  the  latter  language  that  the  plums  along 
the  roadside  from  Jena  to  Weimar  were  excellent. 
Many  a  long  winter's  night  I  had  pondered  on  the 
exalted  and  profound  remarks  I  should  make  to 
Goethe  if  I  should  ever  see  him.  And  now  that 
I  did  at  last  see  him  face  to  face,  I  told  him  that 
the  plums  of  Saxony  were  delicious.  And  Goethe 
smiled.  He  smiled  with  the  same  lips  with  which 
he  had  once  kissed  the  beautiful  Leda,  Europa, 
Danae,  Semele,  and  many  another  princess  or 
ordinary  nymph. 

Lcs  dicux  s' en  vont.  Goethe  is  dead.  He  died 
on  March  22,  1832,  that  memorable  year  in  which 
the  world  lost  its  greatest  celebrities.  It  is  as  if 
death  had  become  suddenly  aristocratic,  and  sought 
to  designate  particularly  the  great  ones  of  this  earth 
by  sending  them  cotemporaneously  to  the  grave. 

*  *  *  There  is  extant  a  little  book  called  "The 
Magic  Horn."  It  is  a  collection  of  popular  bal- 
lads which  I  cannot  sufficiently  extol.  It  contains 
the  sweetest  flowers  of  German  poesy;  and  he  who 
would  know  the  German  people  in  one  of  its  most 
lovable  aspects  should  read  these  folk-songs.  The 
book  lies  open  before  me  as  I  write,  and  from  it  I 
inhale,  as  it  were,  the  fragrant  odor  of  a  linden- 
tree.  For  the  linden-tree  plays  a  leading  role  in 
these  ballads.  Under  its  shadows  the  young  men 
and  maidens  are  wont  to  sit  of  an  evening,  for  the 


1 86  THE   ROMAXT/C  SCHOOL. 

linden-tree  is  the  favorite  trysting-place  of  lovers  ; 
perhaps  because  a  linden-leaf  is  the  shape  of  a 
human  heart.  This  observation  was  once  made  by 
a  German  poet  who  to  me  is  the  dearest  of  all, — 
that  is,  myself  On  the  title-page  of  the  book  is 
the  picture  of  a  lad  blowing  a  horn;  and  when  a 
German  in  a  foreign  land  views  this  picture  he 
almost  seems  to  hear  the  old  familiar  strains,  and 
home-sickness  steals  over  him  as  it  did  o'er  the 
Swiss  peasant  who,  while  standing  guard  on  the 
Strasburg  bastion,  heard  the  cow-bells  in  the  dis- 
tance, threw  away  his  musket,  and  swam  across  the 
Rhine,  but  was  soon  afterwards  captured  and  shot 
as  a  deserter.  "  The  Magic  Horn"  contains  the  fol- 
lowing touching  ballad  concerning  this  occurrence  : 

"  At  Strasburg's  stony  ramparts, 
My  sorrows  there  began. 

Across  the  Rhine  I  heard  the  Alp-horn  sweetly  sounding, 
Ilome-sickness  filled  my  breast,  I  could  no  more  resist; 
That  might  not  be. 

"One  hour  in  the  night 
Brought  me  to  this  sad  plight. 

Oh,  God  !  they  caught  me  swimming  in  the  stream, 
And  to  the  barracks  dragged  me, — 'twas  like  a  dream. 
With  me  all's  o'er. 

"  To-morrow's  early  dawn 
Will  see  the  troops  in  line  updrawn  : 
There  I  must  meekly  pardon  crave, 
And  yet  my  life  that  will  not  save  : 
Mv  fate  I  know. 


18; 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

"  Ye  brothers,  one  and  all, 
Take  your  last  look  ere  dead  I  fall ; 
*  The  peasant  lad,  his  was  the  blame. 

The  Alp-horn's  tone  has  wrought  my  shame, — 
That  do  I  blame." 

What  a  beautiful  poem  !  There  is  a  wonderful 
magic  in  these  folk-ballads.  The  poet-artists  strive 
to  imitate  these  artless  productions  of  nature,  after 
the  manner  in  which  artificial  mineral  waters  are 
prepared.  But  even  if  by  chemical  processes  they 
succeed  in  combining  the  component  elements,  yet 
the  most  important  part,  the  indecomposable,  sym- 
pathetic forces  of  nature,  eludes  their  skill.  In  these 
ballads  one  feels  the  throbbing  of  the  German  popu- 
lar heart.  Here  is  revealed  all  its  sombre  merri- 
ment, all  its  droll  wit.  Here  German  wrath  beats 
furiously  the  drum ;  here  German  satire  stings ; 
here  German  love  kisses. 

But  moonlight,  moonlight  streaming  over  and 
flooding  the  soul  with  its  beauty,  gleams  from  the 
following  pretty  ballad : 

"  Were  I  a  birdie  bright. 
With  winglets  swift  and  light, 
To  thee  I'd  fly  ; 
But,  as  that  may  not  be, 
Here  I  must  bide. 

"  But,  though  I'm  far  from  thee. 
In  dreams  I  commune  with  thee 
Right  merrily. 

Waking,  my  dreams  have  flown, 
Then  I'm  alone. 


1 88  7'-^^^   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

"  All  through  the  long,  dark  night, 
My  heart  sees  thine  image  bright, 
And  thinks  of  thee, — 
Dreams  thousand  times  o'er  and  o'er 
That  thou  lovest  me." 

And  if,  enraptured,  we  ask  who  is  the  author 
of  this  charming  ballad,  the  concluding  lines  give 
the  answer  : 

"And  who  the  pretty  song  has  wrought? 
Three  geese  it  o'er  the  waters  brought, 
Two  gray  geese  and  one  white." 

Generally  such  songs  are  composed  by  strolling 
folk, — tramps,  soldiers,  traveling  scholars,  or  jour- 
neymen ;  particularly  the  latter.  Often  during  my 
trips  afoot  I  became  acquainted  with  such  jour- 
neymen, and  noticed  that  when  excited  by  some 
unusual  event  they  improvised  a  fragment  of  a 
folk-song,  or  whistled  the  melody  in  the  air.  The 
birds  perched  on  the  branches  of  the  trees  heard 
this,  and  if  afterwards  another  such  a  Bursch  came 
sauntering  along  with  knapsack  and  wanderer's 
staff,  then  they  chirped  what  they  had  heard,  he 
added  the  lacking  verses,  and  the  song  was  com- 
plete. 

Like  the  dew  from  heaven,  so  drop  the  words 
of  these  songs  on  the  lips  of  such  strolling  folk, 
and  they  need  but  utter  them,  and,  lo!  they  con- 
tain more  true  poesy  than  all  the  elegant  poetical 
phrases  that  we   so   laboriously  evolve   from  the 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


189 


depths  of  our  souls.  These  songs  reveal  most 
vividly  and  picturesquely  the  life  and  character  of 
those  itinerant  journeymen  with  whom  Germany 
abounds.  They  are  a  very  curious  class.  With- 
out a  penny  in  their  pockets,  these  fellows  travel 
over  all  Germany,  harmless,  light-hearted,  and  free 
from  care.  I  have  observed  that  generally  they 
travel  by  threes.  Of  this  trio  one  is  always  a  con- 
firmed grumbler.  Not  without  touches  of  humor, 
he  will  grumble  at  everything  that  befalls  them,  at 
every  bird  that  flies  in  the  air,  at  every  traveler  that 
rides  across  their  path  ;  and  if  they  happen  to  stray 
into  a  barren  region,  where  the  habitations  are 
wretched  huts  and  the  people  poverty-stricken,  he 
will  remark,  ironically,  "  It  is  true  the  good  Lord 
created  the  world  in  the  short  space  of  six  days, 
but  just  see  what  a  botch  he  has  made  of  the  job!" 
The  second  of  the  trio  is  a  morose,  surly  fellow,  who 
seldom  speaks  except  to  break  out  into  the  most 
violent  swearing  and  cursing.  Almost  every  word 
is  an  oath  ;  he  swears  furiously  at  all  the  employers 
for  whom  he  has  ever  worked,  and  his  constant 
refrain  is  that  he  regrets  having  neglected  to  give 
a  sound  drubbing  to  the  landlady  who  keeps  the 
inn  at  Halberstadt,  because  she  had  daily  set  be- 
fore him  nothing  but  cabbages  and  turnips.  At 
mention  of  the  word  Halberstadt,  the  third  of  the 
travelers  heaves  a  deep  sigh.  He  is  the  youngest 
of  the  three,  and  has  left  his  home  for  the  first 

17 


1 90 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


time  to  try  his  fortunes  in  the  wide,  wide  world: 
he  is  thinking  of  his  pretty  sweetheart's  dark- 
brown  eyes,  and  he  lets  his  head  sink  on  his  breast 
and  speaks  not  a  word. 

*  *  *  Mankind  forgets  its  benefactors  only  too 
easily.  The  names  of  the  good  and  the  noble  who 
have  toiled  for  the  welfare  of  their  fellow-men  are 
seldom  heard  on  the  tongues  of  the  multitude, 
whose  thick  skulls  have  room  only  for  the  names 
of  their  cruel  oppressors  and  martial  heroes.  The 
tree,  humanity,  forgets  the  peaceful  gardener  who 
fostered  it  in  cold,  watered  it  in  drouth,  and  pro- 
tected it  from  unfriendly  beasts ;  but  it  faithfully 
preserves  the  names  which  have  been  mercilessly 
cut  into  its  bark  with  sharp  steel,  and  hands  them 
down  in  ever-growing  greatness  to  the  latest  gen- 
erations. 

*  *  *  You  Frenchmen  ought  at  least  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  depicting  the  horrible  is  not  your 
forte,  and  that  France  is  not  a  suitable  country  for 
ghosts.  When  you  conjure  up  spectres,  we  Ger- 
mans laugh.  Yes,  we  Germans,  who  can  remain 
quite  sober  and  serious  at  your  merriest  witticisms, 
we  laugh  so  much  the  more  heartily  at  your  ghost- 
stories;  for  your  ghosts  are  always  French;  and 
French  ghosts, — what  a  contradiction  in  the  very 
words !  In  the  word  "  ghost"  there  is  implied  some- 
thing so  solitary,  so  surly,  so  German,  so  taciturn  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  word  "  French"  there 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  jgi 

lies  something  so  social,  so  polite,  so  French,  so 
gossipy!  How  could  a  Frenchman  be  a  ghost, 
or  how  could  ghosts  exist  in  Paris  ? — in  Paris,  the 
foyer  of  European  society !  Between  twelve  and 
one,  the  hour  which  from  time  immemorial  has 
been  apportioned  to  ghosts,  the  liveliest  bustle  and 
stir  still  rustles  and  surges  in  the  streets  of  Paris. 
Just  then  is  to  be  heard  the  last  triumphant  swell 
of  the  Opera  ;  out  of  the  Varietes  and  the  Gym- 
nase  stream  jocund  groups  ;  and  on  the  boulevards 
there  is  a  crowding,  and  dancing,  and  laughing, 
and  jesting;  and  the  soirees  are  just  beginning. 
How  unhappy  must  a  poor  ghost  feel  itself  amid 
this  mirth  and  hilarity !  And  how  could  a  French- 
man, even  though  dead,  preserve  the  gravity  requi- 
site for  a  ghost,  when  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
jubilant,  motley  crowds  ?  Should  I  be  doomed  to 
haunt  the  streets  of  Paris,  although  myself  a  Ger- 
man, I  should  certainly  not  be  able  to  preserve  my 
ghostly  dignity  if  at  the  street-corner  there  should 
happen  to  jostle  against  me  one  of  those  goddesses 
of  pleasure  who  greet  the  passers-by  with  such  be- 
witching smiles.  The  French  are  so  social  that  if 
ghosts  could  exist  in  Paris  I  am  convinced  that 
they  would  even  as  ghosts  associate  companion- 
ably.  They  would  soon  organize  ghost  reunions; 
they  would  establish  a  cafe  for  the  dead  ;  they 
would  publish  a  phantom  newspaper,  a  Parisian 
spectre  review ;    there  would  soon  be   hobgoblin 


192 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


soirees,  oic  Vonfcra  dc  la  inusiqiic.  I  am  convinced 
that  the  ghosts  in  Paris  would  amuse  themselves 
better  than  the  living  in  Germany. 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  if  I  knew  that  my 
ghost  could  exist  in  this  manner  in  Paris,  I  should 
no  longer  fear  death.  I  would  only  take  precaution 
to  insure  my  burial  in  the  Pere  Lachaise,  so  that  my 
ghost  could  haunt  Paris  between  twelve  and  one. 
What  a  delightful  hour!  Ye  German  countrymen, 
if  after  my  death  you  come  to  Paris  and  here  be- 
hold my  spectre,  be  not  affrighted.  I  do  not  play 
the  ghost  in  the  dismal  unhappy  German  fashion, 
but  have  left  my  grave  for  my  own  amusement. 

Since,  in  all  the  ghost-stories  that  I  have  ever 
read,  ghosts  generally  haunt  the  spot  where  they 
have  buried  money,  I  shall,  out  of  precaution,  en- 
tomb a  few  sous  somewhere  along  the  boulevards. 
For,  although  in  my  time  I  have  made  way  with 
much  money,  I  have  never  buried  any. 

O  ye  poor  French  authors,  ye  ought  to  com- 
prehend that  solemn  hobgoblin  romances  and 
ghost-stories  are  quite  unsuitable  for  a  country 
where  there  exist  no  spectres,  or  where  the  spec- 
tres are  as  merry  and  social  as  with  us  Germans 
they  are  earnest  and  unsocial.  Ye  appear  to  me 
like  children  who  hold  masks  before  their  faces 
to  frighten  one  another.  They  are  terrible,  awe- 
inspiring  masks,  but  through  the  eye-holes  peep 
the  laughing  glances  of  children.     We  Germans, 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  jq^ 

on  the  contrary,  wear   at  times  pleasant  youthful  \ 
masks,  but  out  of  the  eyes  glares  grim  death.         — -* 

*  *  *  It  is  as  difficult  to  write  a  history  of  litera- 
ture as  natural  history.  In  the  former,  as  in  the 
latter,  attention  is  chiefly  directed  to  the  more  con- 
spicuous phenomena.  But  as  a  small  glass  of  water 
contains  a  whole  world  of  wonderfully  minute  ani- 
mals in  whom  the  power  of  the  Creator  is  just  as 
manifest  as  in  creatures  of  a  larger  size,  so  also  the 
pettiest  poetical  almanac  contains  a  swarm  of  poet- 
lings  who  to  the  studious  searcher  appear  just  as 
interesting  as  the  great  elephants  of  literature. 
God  is  great ! 

In  fact,  most  of  the  historians  of  literature  do 
really  picture  literary  history  like  a  well-arranged 
menagerie,  and  they  show  us  in  separate  compart- 
ments epic  mammal-poets,  lyric  air-poets,  dramatic 
water-poets,  prose  amphibians  who  write  land  and 
sea  romances,  humorous  mollusks,  etc.  Others, 
on  the  contrary,  write  literary  history  pragmatic- 
ally, beginning  with  the  primitive  human  emo- 
tions which  have  been  developed  during  the  various 
epochs  and  have  finally  assumed  the  form  of  art. 
They  commence  ab  ovo,  like  the  historians  who 
began  the  narration  of  the  Trojan  war  with  an 
account  of  the  egg  of  Leda;  and  both  alike  pur- 
sue a  foolish  course.  I  am  convinced  that  if  the  "^ 
egg  of  Leda  had  been  used  for  an  omelet,  Hector 
and  Achilles  would  nevertheless  have  met  at  the 
17* 


IQ4  THE   ROMA i\ TIC  SCHOOL. 

Sc?ean  gate  and  have  battled  heroically.  Great 
events  and  great  books  do  not  spring  from  trivial 
causes,  but  they  arise  because  they  are  needed. 

Or,  is  the  rise  of  certain  ideas  merely  the  ex- 
pression of  the  temporary  needs  of  mankind?  Do 
men  frame  theories  merely  to  legitimize  the  grati- 
fication of  their  desires?  In  their  inmost  souls 
mankind  are  all  doctrinaires.  They  can  always 
trump  up  some  theory  to  justify  their  self-indul- 
gences and  their  renunciations.  On  evil  meagre- 
days,  when  pleasure  is  unattainable,  they  glorify 
the  dogma  of  abstinence,  and  assert  that  earthly 
grapes  are  sour.  But  if  the  times  become  more 
prosperous,  and  the  beautiful  fruits  of  this  earth 
come  within  reach,  then  a  more  cheerful  doctrine 
arises,  which  justifies  the  inalienable  right  of  en- 
joying all  of  life's  pleasures. 

Are  we  nearing  the  end  of  the  Christian  fast- 
day  era,  and  do  we  already  behold  the  golden 
dawning  of  the  rosy  age  of  joy?  What  form  will 
that  cheerful  creed  of  the  future  assume  ? 

In  the  breasts  of  a  nation's  authors  there  already 
lies  the  image  of  its  future,  and  the  critic  who  with 
a  knife  of  sufficient  keenness  dissects  a  new  poet 
can  easily  prophesy,  as  from  the  entrails  of  a  sacri- 
ficial animal,  what  shape  matters  will  assume  in 
Germany.  With  the  heartiest  pleasure  would  I 
officiate  as  a  literary  Calchas  and  critically  slaughter 
a  few  of  our  latest  poets  for  the  purpose  of  divina- 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


195 


tion,  did  I  not  fear  to  behold  things  concerning 
which  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  speak.  For  one 
cannot  discuss  our  latest  German  literature  without 
drifting  into  the  profoundest  depths  of  politics.  In 
France  the  authors  of  belles-lettres  seek  to  with- 
draw themselves  from  political  agitations,  more 
even  than  is  praiseworthy :  hence  in  France  the 
great  lights  of  the  day  may  be  criticised,  and  yet 
the  day  itself  be  left  undiscussed.  But  on  the 
German  side  of  the  Rhine  the  writers  of  polite 
literature  now  plunge  zealously  into  the  agitations 
of  the  times,  from  which  they  had  so  long  kept 
aloof  Ye  French  have  for  the  last  fifty  years  been 
incessantly  in  motion,  and  are  now  fatigued  ;  but 
we  Germans  have  until  now  sat  at  our  study-tables, 
writing  commentaries  on  the  ancient  classics,  and 
now  begin  to  feel  the  want  of  a  little  exercise. 

*  *  *  Jean  Paul  Richter  has  been  called  "  the 
Only."  This  is  a  particularly  fitting  appellation, 
which  I  failed  to  comprehend  fully  until  I  had 
pondered  in  vain  how  to  designate  his  place  in 
literature.  He  appeared  almost  cotemporaneously 
with  the  Romantic  school,  without,  however,  being 
in  the  least  degree  connected  with  it.  At  a  later 
period  he  had  just  as  little  in  common  with  the 
Goethean  Art  school.  He  stands  quite  isolated,  be- 
cause, in  striking  contrast  to  both  of  these  schools, 
he  was  entirely  devoted  to  his  epoch,  and  his  heart 
and  mind  were  wholly  filled   with   it.     He  wrote 


196 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


just  as  he  felt;  and  this  characteristic,  this  com- 
pleteness, is  also  to  be  found  among  the  authors 
of  the  present  Young  Germany  school.  They 
likewise  draw  no  line  between  practical  life  and 

/     authorship,  and  are  simultaneously  artists,  tribunes, 

V     and  apostles. 

I  repeat  the  word  apostles,  for  I  know  no  more 
appropriate  word.  A  new  religion  thrills  them 
with  a  fervor  of  which  the  authors  of  an  earlier 
period  had  no  conception.  It  is  the  faith  in  prog- 
ress,— a  faith  founded  on  knowledge.  -  We  have 
measured  the  land,  estimated  the  forces  of  nature, 
computed  the  resources  of  industry,  and,  lo  !  we 
have  discovered  that  this  world  is  large  enough, 
that    it    affords   to   every  one  sufficient   space   to 

1  build  thereon  a  happy  home.  We  have  learned 
>j  that  the  earth  can  support  us  all  comfortably,  if 
/  all  will  only  work,  and  not  one   live  at  the  cost 

(  of  another ;  we  have  learned  that  the  poorer  and 
I  more  numerous  classes  need  not  be  relegated  to 
heaven.  It  is  true  that  the  number  of  those  who 
know  and  believe  is,  as  yet,  very  limited;  but 
the  time  has  come  when  nations  are  no  longer 
counted  according  to  heads,  but  according  to 
hearts. 

*  *  *  I  have  intimated  that  Jean  Paul  Richter 
anticipated  the  Young  Germany  school  in  its  most 
marked  tendency.  But  the  latter,  occupied  with 
practical   questions,  avoided   the   abstract  intrica- 


THE    ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  igy 

cies,  the  abrupt  mannerisms,  and  the  unenjoyable 
style  of  Jean  Paul  Richter.  No  Frenchman  with 
a  clear  well-regulated  mind  can  form  a  concep- 
tion of  that  peculiar  style.  No  German  author  is 
so  rich  as  Jean  Paul  in  ideas  and  in  emotions;  but 
he  never  permits  them  to  ripen ;  and,  notwithstand- 
ing his  wealth  of  mind  and  heart,  he  excites  more 
astonishment  than  pleasure.  Thoughts  and  senti- 
ments which  would  grow  into  colossal  trees,  if  per- 
mitted to  strike  root  properly  and  develop  all  their 
branches,  blossoms,  and  leaves, — these  he  uproots 
while  they  are  still  insignificant  shrubs,  mere 
sprouts  even  ;  and  whole  intellectual  forests  are 
thus  served  up  to  us  as  an  ordinary  dish.  Now, 
although  curious,  this  is  decidedly  unpalatable  fare, 
for  not  every  stomach  can  digest  such  a  mess  of 
young  oaks,  cedars,  palms,  and  banana-trees.  Jean 
Paul  is  a  great  poet  and  philosopher;  but  no  one 
can  be  more  inartistic  than  he  in  his  modes  of 
thought  and  work.  In  his  romances  he  has  brought 
to  light  some  truly  poetical  creations;  but  instead 
of  thought  he  gives  us  his  thinking  itself  We 
see  the  material  activity  of  his  brain;  he  gives 
us,  as  it  were,  more  brain  than  thought.  He  is 
the  merriest  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  senti^ 
mental  of  authors.  In  fact,  sentimentality  always 
finally  overcomes  him,  and  his  laughter  abruptly 
turns  into  tears.  He  sometimes  disguises  himself 
as  a  gross,  beggarly  fellow ;  but  then,  hke  stage- 


98 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


princes,  he  suddenly  unbuttons  the  coarse  overcoat 
and  reveals  the  glitterinc^  insignia  of  his  rank. 

In  this  respect  Jean  Paul  resembles  Laurence 
Sterne,  with  whom  he  has  been  often  compared. 
The  author  of"  Tristram  Shandy,"  when  apparently 
sunk  in  the  most  vulgar  trivialities,  possesses  the 
art  of  rising  by  sudden  transitions  to  the  sublime, 
reminding  us  that  he  is  of  princely  rank  and  the 
countryman  of  Shakspeare.  Jean  Paul,  like  Lau- 
rence Sterne,  reveals  in  his  writings  his  own  per- 
sonality and  lays  bare  his  own  human  frailties  ;  but 
yet  with  a  certain  awkward  bashful ness,  especially 
in  sexual  matters.  Laurence  Sterne  parades  be- 
fore the  public  entirely  unrobed,  quite  naked;  but 
Jean  Paul  has  only  holes  in  his  trowsers.  A  few 
critics  erroneously  believe  that  Jean  Paul  possessed 
more  true  feeling  than  Sterne,  because  the  latter, 
whenever  the  subject  under  treatment  reaches  a 
tragic  elevation,  suddenly  assumes  a  merry,  jest- 
ing tone.  Jean  Paul,  on  the  contrary,  if  the  subject 
verges  in  the  least  towards  the  serious,  gradually 
becomes  lachrymose,  and  composedly  lets  his  tears 
trickle.  Sterne  probably  felt  more  deeply  than 
Jean  Paul,  for  he  is  a  greater  poet.  Laurence 
Sterne,  like  Shakspeare,  was  fostered  by  the  Muses 
in  Parnassus.  After  the  manner  of  women,  they 
early  spoiled  him  with  their  caresses.  He  was  the 
especial  pet  of  the  pale  goddess  of  tragedy.  Once, 
in  a  paroxysm  of  fierce  tenderness,  she  kissed  him 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  iqq 

SO  passionately,  with  such  fervor,  with  so  ardent  a 
pressure  of  her  hps,  that  his  young  heart  began  to 
bleed,  and  at  once  understood  all  earthly  sorrows 
and  was  filled  with  a  boundless  compassion.  Poor 
young  poet  heart !  But  the  younger  sister,  the 
rosy  goddess  of  mirth,  sprang  quickly  to  his  side, 
took  the  suffering  lad  into  her  arms,  and  sought 
to  cheer  him  with  song  and  merriment.  She  gave 
him  as  playthings  the  mask  of  comedy  and  the 
jingling  bells,  and  pressed  a  soothing  kiss  upon  his 
lips;  and  with  that  kiss  she  imbued  him  with  all 
her  levity,  all  her  frolicsome  mirth,  all  her  sportive 
wit.  And  since  then  Sterne's  heart  and  Sterne's 
lips  have  drifted  into  a  strange  contradiction. 
Sometimes,  when  his  soul  is  most  deeply  agitated 
with  tragic  emotion,  and  he  seeks  to  give  utter- 
ance to  the  profound  sorrows  of  his  bleeding  heart, 
then,  to  his  own  astonishment,  the  merriest,  most 
mirth-provoking  words  will  flutter  from  his  lips. 

*  *  *  Ludwig  Tieck  was  accustomed  to  declaim 
his  dramas  before  a  select  parlor  audience,  on  whose 
applause  he  could  safely  depend.  While  the  Baron 
de  la  Motte-Fouque  was  being  read  with  equal  en- 
thusiasm by  duchess  and  by  laundress,  and  shone 
resplendently  as  the  sun  of  circulating  libraries, 
Ludwig  Tieck  was  only  the  astral  lamp  of  those 
social  tea-gatherings.  During  the  reading  of  his 
poems,  the  audience,  inspired  by  his  poetic  genius, 
sipped   tea  with  the  utmost  composure  of  soul. 


200  ^-^^^   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

The  force  of  this  poetry  must  have  been  the  more 
marked  in  contrast  with  the  weakness  of  the  tea; 
and  in  Bcrh'n,  where  the  weakest  tea  is  drunk,  Lud- 
wig  Tieck  must  certainly  have  passed  for  a  power- 
ful poet.  While  the  ballads  of  our  excellent  Uhland 
were  re-echoing  through  the  forests  and  the  valleys, 
and  are  even  yet  bellowed  by  wild  students  or 
lisped  by  tender  maidens,  not  a  single  song  of 
Herr  Ludwig  Tieck  has  imprinted  itself  on  our 
souls,  not  a  single  song  of  Herr  Ludwig  Tieck  has 
clung  to  our  memory;  the  public  at  large  knows 
not  a  single  ballad  of  this  great  l}Tic  poet ! 

*  *  *  The  Baron  de  la  Motte-Fouque  was  for- 
merly a  major  in  the  Prussian  military  service, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  of  those  poet- 
heroes,  or  hero-poets,  whose  lyre  and  sword  won 
renown  during  the  so-called  war  of  liberation. 

His  laurels  are  of  the  genuine  kind.  He  is  a 
true  poet,  and  the  inspiration  of  poetry  is  on  his 
brow.  Few  authors  receive  such  universal  homage 
as  did  our  good  Fouque.  Now  his  readers  consist 
only  of  the  patrons  of  the  circulating  libraries. 
But  that  public  is  still  large  enough,  and  Fouque 
may  boast  that  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  Roman- 
tic school  who  was  received  with  favor  by  the 
lower  as  well  as  by  the  higher  classes.  At  the 
time  when  in  the  aesthetic  tea-gatherings  in  Berlin 
it  was  the  fashion  to  sneer  at  the  fallen  knight,  in 
a  little  Hartz  village  I  became  acquainted  with  a 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  2OI 

lovely  maiden  who  spoke  of  Fouque  with  a  charm- 
ing enthusiasm,  and  blushingly  confessed  that  she 
would  gladly  give  a  year  of  her  life  if  she  might 
but  once  kiss  the  author  of  "Undine," — and  this 
maiden  had  the  prettiest  lips  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

"Undine"  is  indeed  a  charming  poem.  This 
poem  is  itself  a  kiss  !  The  genius  of  poetry  kissed 
the  sleeping  spring,  and  as  it  oped  its  laughing 
eyes  all  the  roses  exhaled  their  sweetest  perfumes, 
and  all  the  nightingales  sang;  and  the  fragrance  of 
the  roses  and  the  songs  of  the  nightingales,  all 
this  did  our  good  Fouque  clothe  in  words,  and 
called  it  "  Undine." 

I  know  not  if  this  novel  has  been  translated  into 
French.  It  is  the  story  of  a  lovely  water-fairy 
who  has  no  soul,  and  who  only  acquires  one  by 
falling  in  love  with  an  earthly  knight.  But,  alas  ! 
with  this  soul  she  also  learns  human  sorrows.  Her 
knightly  spouse  becomes  faithless,  and  she  kisses 
him  dead.  For  in  this  book  death  also  is  only  a 
kiss. 

This  "Undine"  may  be  regarded  as  the  muse  of 
Fouque's  poetry.  Although  she  is  indescribably 
beautiful,  although  she  suffers  as  we  do,  and  earthly 
sorrows  weigh  full  heavily  upon  her,  she  is  yet  no 
real  human  being.  But  our  time  turns  away  from 
all  fairy-pictures,  no  matter  how  beautiful.  It  de- 
mands the  figures  of  actual  life ;  and  least  of  all 
will  it  tolerate  nixens  who  fall  in  love  with  noble 

18 


202 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


knights.  This  reactionary  tendcncv',  this  continual 
praise  of  the  nobihty,  this  incessant  glorification  of 
the  feudal  system,  this  everiasting  knight-errantry 
balderdash,  became  at  last  (Jj^tasteful  to  the  educated 
portion  of  the  German  middle  classes,  and  they 
turned  their  backs  on  the  minstrel  who  sang  so  out 
of  time.  In  fact,  this  everlasting  sing-song  of  ar- 
mors, battle-steeds,  high-born  virgins,  honest  guild- 
masters,  dwarfs,  squires,  castles,  chapels,  minne- 
singers, faith,  and  whatever  else  that  rubbish  of 
the  Middle  Ages  may  be  called,  wearied  us  ;  and  as 
the  ingenious  hidalgo  Friedrich  de  la  Motte-Fouque 
became  more  and  more  immersed  in  his  books  of 
chivalry,  and,  wrapped  up  in  reveries  of  the  past, 
ceased  to  understand  the  present,  then  even  his 
best  friends  were  compelled  to  turn  away  from  him 
with  dubious  head-shakings. 

*  *  *  Fouque  was  a  Don  Quixote  from  head  to 
foot,  and  in  reading  his  works  one  is  compelled  to 
admire  Cervantes. 

*  *  *  The  hero  of  one  of  Fouque's  dramas, 
"Sigurd,  the  serpent-slayer,"  is  an  immense  con- 
ception. He  is  as  strong  as  the  rocky  crags  of 
Norway,  and  as  violent  as  the  sea  that  roars  around 
their  base.  He  has  as  much  courage  as  a  hun- 
dred lions,  and  as  much  sense  as  two  asses. 

Uhland's  tragedy,  "  Duke  Ernest  of  Suabia," 
contains  many  beauties,  and  pleases  by  its  noble 
and   exalted   sentiments.     It  is  fragrant  with   the 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  203 

sweet  breath  of  poetry,  such  as  we  fail  to  find  in 
the  pieces  that  reap  so  much  applause  on  the  stage 
at  the  present  day.  German  fidelity  is  the  theme 
of  the  drama,  and  we  see  it  here  strong  as  an  oak, 
defying  all  storms.  German  love  blossoms,  scarcely 
visible,  in  the  far  distance,  but  its  violet-perfume 
appeals  the  more  touchingly  to  our  hearts.  This 
drama,  or  rather  this  poem,  contains  passages  which 
are  among  the  most  precious  pearls  of  our  liter- 
ature; notwithstanding  which,  the  theatre-going 
public  received,  or  rather  rejected,  the  piece  with 
indifference.  I  will  not  censure  the  good  people  of 
the  parterre  too  severely  for  that.  These  people 
have  certain  needs,  which  they  demand  that  the 
poet  shall  gratify.  The  poet's  productions  must 
not  merely  express  the  sympathies  of  his  own 
heart,  but  must  accord  with  the  desires  of  the  au- 
dience. The  latter  resembles  the  hungry  Bedouin 
in  the  desert,  who  thinks  he  has  found  a  sack  of 
peas,  and  opens  it  eagerly,  but,  alas!  they  are  only 
pearls.  The  public  devour  with  delight  Herr  Rau- 
pach's  dry  peas  and  Madame  Birch-Pfeifer's  sour 
beans,  but  Uhland's  pearls  it  finds  unpalatable. 

*  *  *  As  in  all  probability  the  French  do  not 
know  who  Madame  Birch-Pfeifer  and  Herr  Rau- 
pach  are,  I  must  premise  that  this  celestial  pair, 
standing  side  by  side,  like  Apollo  and  Diana, 
are  now  the  most  honored  in  German  temples  of 
dramatic  art!      Verily,   Herr   Raupach   is  as  like 


204 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


to  Apollo  as  Madame  Birch-Pfeifer  is  to  Diana. 
This  lady  has  already  written  a  multitude  of  dramas, 
in  which  she  herself  plays.  In  fact,  many  of  our 
actors  are  also  dramatists,  and  write  their  own 
plays.  It  is  said  that  Ludwig  Tieck,  through 
a  thoughtless  remark,  has  been  the  cause  of  this 
misfortune.  In  his  critical  writings  he  stated  that 
actors  can  always  play  better  in  a  poor  than  in  a 
good  play.  Basing  themselves  on  this  axiom,  the 
actors  in  swarms  grasped  their  pens,  wrote  trage- 
dies and  comedies  in  lavish  profusion,  and  it  was 
sometimes  difficult  to  decide  whether  a  vain  actor 
purposely  made  his  play  wretched  in  order  to  act 
well  in  it,  or  whether  he  acted  badly  in  a  play  of 
his  own  writing  in  order  to  make  us  believe  that 
the  play  was  good.  The  actor  and  the  poet,  who 
until  now  had  co-operated  as  colleagues  (somewhat 
like  the  executioner  and  the  poor  culprit),  now 
declared  open  war. 

*  *  *  The  actors  in  Germany  have  succeeded 
in  emancipating  themselves  from  the  poets,  and 
also  from  poetry  itself  Only  mediocrity  is  now 
permitted  to  exhibit  its  productions  in  their  fields. 
But  they  are  vigilantly  on  the  alert  that  no  true 
poet  shall  slip  in  among  them  under  the  cloak  of 
mediocrity.  Herr  Raupach  was  subjected  to  many 
trials  before  he  could  gain  a  foothold  in  the  thea- 
tre; and  they  still  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  him  ;  and 
if  once  he  happens  to  write  a  play  which  is  not 


THE   ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


205 


entirely  and  totally  wretched,  out  of  fear  of  being 
ostracized  by  the  actors,  he  immediately  patches 
together  a  dozen  of  the  most  utterly  miserable, 
trashy  pieces.  The  reader  is  perhaps  surprised  at 
the  word  "  dozen."  I  have  not  exaggerated  the 
number.  This  man  really  manufactures  a  dozen 
dramas  every  year,  and  people  admire  his  pro- 
ductivity. "  But  it  is  not  magic,"  says  the  pres- 
tidigitator, when  we  stare  in  astonishment  at  his 
feats  ;  "  it  is  not  magic,  but  only  nimbleness  of  the 
fingers." 


18* 


THE  SUABIAN  SCHOOL. 


The  idea  of  ornamenting  this  book  with  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  my  features  did  not 
originate  with  me.  The  portrait  of  an  author  as 
a  frontispiece  to  his  book  involuntarily  reminds  me 
of  the  Asylum  for  the  Insane  at  Genoa,  in  front  of 
which  is  erected  the  statue  of  its  founder.  It  was 
my  publisher  who  conceived  the  idea  of  prefacing 
with  my  portrait  my  "  Book  of  Songs,"  that  printed 
lunatic-asylum  wherein  my  mad  conceits  are  im- 
prisoned. 

My  friend  Julius  Campe  is  a  wag,  and  surely 
wanted  to  quiz  the  dear  little  poetlings  of  the  Sua- 
bian  school,  who  have  conspired  against  my  face. 
When  now  they  carp  and  cavil  at  my  poems  and 
count  the  tear-drops  in  them,  they  cannot  help 
sometimes  beholding  my  features.  But  why  are 
ye  so  implacably  enraged  against  me,  ye  good 
people  ?  Why  do  ye  attack  me  in  long-winded 
articles,  tedious  enough  to  bore  me  to  death  if  I 
read  them  ?  What  have  ye  against  my  face  ? 
206 


THE   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL.  207 

Incidentally,  I  must  remark  that  my  picture  is  not 
a  good  likeness;  the  lower  part  of  the  face  is  alto- 
gether too  lean  in  the  portrait ;  for  within  a  short 
time  I  have  become  quite  stout  and  corpulent,  and 
I  fear  that  I  shall  soon  look  like  an  alderman. 
Alas !  the  Suabian  school  causes  me  so  much 
sorrow. 

I  behold  thee,  gentle  reader,  with  questioning 
look,  asking  what  I  mean  by  the  phrase  "  Suabian 
school."  It  is  not  long  since  I  directed  the  same 
question  to  several  traveling  Suabians.  For  a 
long  time  they  evaded  answering,  and  smiled 
very  strangely,  just  about  as  apothecaries  smile 
when,  at  early  morn  on  the  first  of  April,  a  credu- 
lous servant-maid  asks  for  two-pennyworth  of  the 
honey  of  flies.  In  my  innocence  I  at  first  thought 
that  by  the  name  "  Suabian  school"  was  meant 
that  blooming  forest  of  great  men  who  had  sprung 
from  the  soil  of  Suabia, — those  giant  oaks  whose 
roots  extend  to  the  centre  of  the  earth  and  whose 
branches  tower  to  the  stars.  And  I  inquired,  "  Is 
it  not  true  that  Schiller,  the  wild  poet  who  wrote 
*  The  Robbers,'  belongs  to  that  school  ?"  "  No," 
was  the  answer  ;  "  we  have  naught  to  do  with  such 
as  he:  such  robber-stories  are  not  permitted  in  the 
Suabian  school.  With  us  everything  must  be 
quiet  and  orderly,  and  Schiller  was  early  chased 
out  of  the  country." 

"  Docs  Schelling  belong  to  the  Suabian  school, 


2o8  ^-^^^   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL. 

— Schelling,  the  erring  thinker,  the  King  Arthur 
of  philosophy,  who  in  vain  seeks  the  pliilosopher's 
stone,  and  meanwhile  languishes  in  the  wilderness 
of  mysticism  ?"  "  We  do  not  exactly  understand 
that,"  was  the  answer;  "but  we  can  assure  you 
that  Schelling  does  not  belong  to  the  Suabian 
school." 

"Does  Hegel  belong  to  it, — Hegel,  the  intel- 
lectual world-navigator,  who  has  fearlessly  pene- 
trated to  the  north  pole  of  thought,  where  one's 
brain  freezes  amid  abstract  ice  ?  Does  David 
Strauss  belong  to  it,  the  David  with  the  deadly 
sling  ?"  "  God  preserve  us  from  such  as  he  !  him 
we  have  even  excommunicated ;  and  should  he 
desire  to  enter  the  Suabian  school  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  unanimously  blackballed." 

"  But,  in  the  name  of  heaven,"  cried  I,  after  I 
had  enumerated  nearly  all  the  great  names  of 
Suabia,  including  even  the  Hohenstaufifens,  and 
going  so  far  back  as  to  Kepler,  the  great  star  who 
understood  the  whole  firmament,  "  who,  then,  does 
belong  to  the  Suabian  school  ?"  "  Well,  then,"  they 
answered,  "we  will  be  candid  with  you:  The  celeb- 
rities whom  you  have  just  enumerated  are  much 
more  European  than  Suabian;  they  emigrated,  as 
it  were,  and  made  their  impress  on  the  world  ; 
whereas  the  celebrities  of  the  Suabian  school  de- 
spise such  cosmopolitanism,  and  stay  patriotically 
and  comfortably  at  home,  among  the  buttercups 


THE   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL, 


209 


and  meat-broth  of  their  beloved  Suabia."  And 
thus  I  finally  learned  the  modest  greatness  of  those 
celebrities  who,  since  they  have  appeared  as  the 
Suabian  school,  strut  about  in  the  same  circle  of 
thoughts,  deck  themselves  with  the  same  senti- 
ments, and  even  entwine  their  pipes  with  tassels  of 
a  uniform  color. 

The  most  prominent  among  them  is  the  pastor 
Gustav  Schwab.  He  is  a  herring  in  comparison 
with  the  others,  who  are  only  sardines, — be  it 
understood,  sardines  without  salt.  Gustav  Schwab 
has  written  a  few  beautiful  poems  ;  also  several 
pretty  ballads.  But,  of  course,  he  is  not  to  be 
compared  to  a  Schiller,  to  a  great  whale.  After 
him  ranks  Doctor  Justinus  Kerner,  who  sees  spirits 
and  poisoned  sausages,  and  once  most  seriously 
assured  the  public  that  a  pair  of  shoes,  all  of  them- 
selves, without  human  agency,  went  slowly  tramp- 
incf  throuo;h  the  room  to  the  bed  of  the  sorceress 
of  Prevorst.  A  pretty  state  of  affairs  we  have 
come  to,  when  one  must  fasten  his  boots  at  retiring, 
so  that  during  the  night  they  do  not  come  tramp, 
tramp,  to  one's  bedside,  and  in  a  leathern,  ghostly 
voice  declaim  the  poems  of  Hcrr  Justinus  Kerner! 

The  latter  are  not  altogether  bad.  The  man  is 
not  without  merit,  and  I  may  apply  to  him  what 
Napoleon  once  said  of  Murat :  "  He  is  a  great 
fool, — nevertheless,  an  excellent  general  of  cav- 
alry."    I  already  see  the  collective  inhabitants  of 


2IO  THE   SCAB  IAN  SCHOOL. 

Weinsberg  dubiously  shake  their  heads  at  this 
opinion,  and  hear  them  say,  with  a  puzzled  air,  "  It 
is  true  that  our  dear  countryman  Herr  Justinus 
Kerner  is  a  great  fool ;  but  he  is  by  no  means  an 
excellent  general  of  cavalry."  Well,  have  it  your 
own  way.  I  am  willing  to  concede  to  you  that  he 
is  not  a  good  general. 

Herr  Carl  Mayer,  which  in  Latin  is  Caroliis  Mag- 
nus, is  another  poet  of  the  Suabian  school,  and  it 
is  said  that  he  most  faithfully  reveals  its  spirit  and 
character:  he  is  a  dull,  insipid  gnat,  and  sings  of 
beetles  and  buttercups.  He  is  said  to  be  very 
famous  in  the  whole  vicinity  of  Waiblingen,  in 
front  of  whose  gates  it  is  proposed  to  erect  a  statue 
of  him — a  wooden  statue — life-size.  This  wooden 
image  of  the  poet  is  to  be  freshly  painted  in  oil 
colors  every  year, — every  year  in  the  spring-time, 
when  the  air  is  redolent  of  buttercups  and  the 
hum  of  the  beetle  is  heard  o'er  the  land. 

I  am  assured  that  Herr is  one  of  the  most 

excellent  poets  of  the  Suabian  school,  and  has  only 
lately  come  to  consciousness,  but  has  not  yet  made 
his  debut.  In  other  words,  he  has  not  yet  pub- 
lished his  poems.  I  am  told  that  he  sings  not  only 
about  June  bugs  and  beetles,  but  also  of  larks  and 
quails,  which  is  certainly  very  praiseworthy  of  him. 
Larks  and  quails  deserve  indeed  to  be  celebrated 
in  song, — when  they  are  broiled.  As  to  the  char- 
acter and  worth  of  Herr 's  poems,  which  have 


THE   SUABIAN  SCHOOL.  2II 

not  yet  appeared  in  print,  I  can  form  no  opinion  ; 
which  is  also  the  case  with  regard  to  the  master- 
pieces of  so  many  other  great  unknowns  of  the 
Suabian  school. 

The  Suabian  school  must  have  become  con- 
scious that  it  would  not  harm  them  if,  in  addition 
to  their  great  unknowns,  who  are  only  visible 
when  placed  under  a  microscope,  they  could  count 
among  their  number  a  few  petty  celebrities  who 
had  achieved  some  little  reputation,  not  only  in 
the  peaceful  precincts  of  the  Suabian  provinces^ 
but  also  in  the  rest  of  Germany.  They  therefore 
addressed  themselves  to  King  Ludwig  of  Bavaria, 
the  crowned  singer,  who,  however,  declined.  But 
he  returned  a  friendly  greeting,  and  sent  them  a 
magnificent  copy  of  his  poems,  gilt-edged  and 
bound  in  red  morocco.  After  this  they  betook 
themselves  to  Court  Counsellor  Winkler,  who  also 
declined,  as  he  himself  was  about  founding  a  Saxon 
school,  for  which  undertaking  he  had  already  en- 
gaged a  considerable  number  of  his  poetical  coun- 
trymen. 

They  next  applied  to  the  Hungarian  Lenau.  The 
Hungarians  have  certainly  lost  much  by  their 
countrymen  joining  the  Suabians ;  but  so  long 
as  they  retain  their  Tokay  wine  they  may  console 
themselves. 

The  next  acquisition  of  the  Suabian  school 
was   less  brilliant,  for  it  consisted  of  Wolfgang 


212  THE   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL. 

Menzel,  the  devourer  of  Frenchmen,  as  Borne  calls 
him. 

Once  when  I  stripped  from  his  body,  piece  by- 
piece,  the  tatters  of  his  false  patriotism  and  hypo- 
critical morality,  he  raised  a  terrible  clamor  that 
religion  was  in  danger;  that  the  pillars  of  the 
Church  were  being  shattered ;  that  Heinrich  Heine 
was  destroying  Christianity !  It  made  me  laugh 
heartily;  for  this  loud  outcry  reminded  me  of 
another  wretched  sinner,  who  in  the  market-place 
of  Liibeck  was  being  flogged  and  branded.  As 
soon  as  the  fiery  iron  touched  his  back,  he  set  up 
a  terrible  shouting  and  hullabaloo:  "Fire!  fire!  it 
burns  !  it  burns  !  the  church  is  in  flames !"  The 
old  women  were  frightened  at  this  alarm  of  fire, 
but  sensible  people  only  laughed,  and  said,  "  The 
miserable  rascal !  it  is  only  his  own  back  that 
burns.  The  church  stands  safely  on  its  old  place. 
But,  for  fear  of  incendiarism,  the  police  has  provided 
for  a  few  extra  fire-engines,  and  now,  out  of  pious 
precaution,  not  even  the  smoking  of  a  cigar  shall 
be  permitted  in  the  vicinity  of  religion." 

I  must  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  to  con- 
tradict the  reports  that  Herr  Wolfgang  Menzel, 
through  the  pressure  of  his  colleagues,  had  at  last 
determined  to  make  use  of  the  magnanimity  with 
which  I  offered  him  an  occasion  to  free  himself 
from  the  charge  of  personal  cowardice.  I  will 
confess    honestly  that   I   always   expected   that   I 


THE   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL.  213 

would  be  notified  of  the  time  and  place  when 
and  where  the  champion  of  patriotism  and  of  re- 
ligion would  show  himself  in  all  his  manhood. 
But,  alas!  until  this  hour  I  have  waited  in  vain; 
and  the  witlings  of  the  German  press  have  ban- 
tered me  not  a  little  on  my  credulity.  Wags 
have  even  carried  the  jest  so  far  as  to  write  me  a 
letter  in  the  name  of  the  unhappy  wife  of  Menzel, 
wherein  the  poor  woman  is  made  to  complain 
bitterly  of  her  domestic  troubles  since  the  appear- 
ance of  my  article  against  her  husbancf,  who  now 
seeks  to  play  the  hero  at  home.  At  the  mere 
mention  of  the  word  "cowardice"  he  flies  into  a 
rage.  One  evening  he  spanked  his  little  child  for 
innocently  drawing  on  the  wall  the  picture  of  a 
trembling  hare.  At  another  time  he  wept  bitterly 
because  he  had  been  taunted  with  showing  the 
"white  feather."  And  at  night  his  sighings  and 
moanings  were  enough  to  melt  the  heart  of  a 
stone.  *'  Such  a  state  of  affairs  is  not  to  be  longer 
endured,"  so  ran  the  pretended  letter,  and,  in  order 
to  put  an  end  to  it,  she  herself  offered  to  fight  with 
me,  in  the  place  of  her  timorous  husband. 

Not  at  first  noticing  the  transparent  hoax,  I  ex- 
claimed, enthusiastically,  "Noble  woman!  worthy 
Suabian !" 

*  *  *  The  only  thing  new  and  original  that  I 
found  in  the  treatise  of  Gustav  Pfizer  was,  here 
and  there,  a  forgery  of  my  very  words.     This  is 

19 


214 


THE   SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL. 


new,  this  is  original.  He  is  a  new  beginner,  but 
his  talent  is  indisputable.  He  deserves  that  Wolf- 
gang Menzel,  the  valiant,  should  crown  him  with 
his  mustiest  laurel-wreath. 

But  I  advise  him  not  to  cultivate  his  talent  any- 
further.  He  might  otherwise  be  led  some  time 
to  exercise  his  noble  talent  of  forgery  in  matters 
not  literary;  and  there  are  countries  where  such 
things  are  rewarded  with  a  hempen  collar.  At 
the  Old  Bailey,  in  London,  I  once  saw  a  man  hung 
for  having Torged  a  draft;  and  the  poor  rascal  may 
perhaps  have  been  forced  to  it  by  hunger,  and  not 
out  of  knavery,  or  for  mere  glory,  or  even  for  a 
little  praise  in  the  journals  of  Stuttgart,  or  to  earn 
a  small  literary  trinkgeld. 

On  this  account  I  pitied  the  poor  wretch,  at 
whose  execution  there  were  many  delays.  It  is  an 
error  to  believe  that  hanging  is  expeditiously  done 
in  England.  The  preparations  lasted  almost  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  It  vexes  me  to  this  day  when 
I  think  with  what  tardiness  the  noose  was  placed 
around  his  neck  and  the  white  cap  drawn  over 
his  eyes.  By  his  side  stood  his  friends,  probably 
the  associates  of  the  school  to  which  he  belonged, 
awaiting  the  moment  when  they  might  render  him 
the  last  act  of  love.  This  last  act  of  love  consists 
in  clinging  with  their  utmost  weight  to  the  legs 
of  their  struggling,  strangling  friend,  in  order  to 
shorten  the  death-agonies. 


THE  SUAE  IAN  SCHOOL.  21$ 

I  have  spoken  of  Herr  Gustav  Pfizer  because  I 
could  not  altogether  skip  him  in  a  review  of  the 
Suabian  school.  I  may  safely  say,  however,  that, 
in  the  good  nature  of  my  heart,  I  do  not  bear  the 
least  malice  against  Herr  Pfizer.  On  the  contrary, 
should  I  ever  be  in  a  position  to  render  him  an  act 
of  kindness,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  not  long  let 
him  kick. 


r 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 


Already  in  my  earliest  writings  I  broached  the 
idea  from  whicji  the  following  narrative  has  sprung. 
I  refer  to  that  metamorphosis  into  demons  which 
the  Greek-Roman  gods  underwent  when  Chris- 
tianity achieved  supreme  control  of  the  world. 
The  superstition  of  the  people  ascribed  to  those 
gods  a  real  but  cursed  existence,  coinciding  en- 
tirely in  this  respect  with  the  teachings  of  the 
Church.  The  latter  by  no  means  declared  the 
ancient  gods  to  be  myths,  inventions  of  falsehood 
and  error,  as  did  the  philosophers,  but  held  them 
to  be  evil  spirits,  who  through  the  victory  of 
Christ  had  been  hurled  from  the  summit  of  their 
power,  and  now  dragged  along  their  miserable 
existences  in  the  obscurity  of  dismantled  temples 
or  in  enchanted  groves,  and  by  their  diabolic  arts, 
through  lust  and  beauty,  particularly  through 
dancing  and  singing,  lured  to  apostasy  unstead- 
fast  Christians  who  had  lost  their  way  in  the  forest. 
I  desire  briefly  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  per- 
216 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE.  217 

plexities  into  which  the  ancient  gods  fell  at  the 
time  of  the  final  triumph  of  Christendom — that 
is,  in  the  third  century — offer  striking  analogies  to 
former  sorrowful  events  in  their  god-lives ;  for  they 
found  themselves  plunged  into  the  same  sad  pre- 
dicament in  which  they  had  once  before  been  placed 
in  that  most  ancient  time,  in  that  revolutionary 
epoch  when  the  Titans  broke  loose  from  their  con- 
finement in  Orcus  and,  piling  Pelion  on  Ossa,  scaled 
high  Olympus.  At  that  time  the  poor  gods  were 
compelled  to  flee  ignominiously  and  conceal  them- 
selves under  various  disguises  on  earth.  ]\Iost  of 
them  repaired  to  Egypt,  where,  as  is  well  known, 
for  greater  safety  they  assumed  the  forms  of  animals. 
And  in  a  like  manner,  when  the  true  Lord  of  the 
universe  planted  the  banner  of  the  cross  on  the 
heavenly  heights,  and  those  iconoclastic  zealots, 
the  monks,  hunted  down  the  gods  with  fire  and 
malediction  and  razed  their  temples,  then  these 
unfortunate  heathen  divinities  were  again  com- 
pelled to  take  to  flight,  seeking  safety  under  the 
most  varied  disguises  and  in  the  most  retired 
hiding-places.  Many  of  these  poor  refugees,  de- 
prived of  shelter  and  ambrosia,  were  now  forced 
to  work  at  some  plebeian  trade  in  order  to  earn 
a  livelihood.  Under  these  circumstances  several, 
whose  shrines  had  been  confiscated,  became  wood- 
choppers  and  day-laborers  in  Germany,  and  were 
compelled  to  drink  beer  instead  of  nectar.  It  ap- 
19* 


2i8  THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 

pears  that  Apollo  was  reduced  to  this  dire  plight, 
and  stooped  so  low  as  to  accept  service  with  cattle- 
breeders,  and  as  once  before  he  had  tended  the 
cows  of  Admetus  so  lived  he  now  as  a  shepherd 
in  Lower  Austria.'  Here,  however,  he  aroused 
suspicion  through  the  marvelous  sweetness  of  his 
singing,  and,  being  recognized  by  a  learned  monk 
as  one  of  the  ancient  magic-working  heathen  gods, 
he  was  delivered  over  to  the  ecclesiastical  courts. 
On  the  rack  he  confessed  that  he  was  the  god 
Apollo.  Before  his  execution  he  begged  that  he 
might  be  permitted  for  the  last  time  to  play  the 
zither  and  sing  to  its  accompaniment.  But  he 
played  so  touchingly  and  sang  so  enchantingly, 
and  was  so  handsome  in  face  and  form,  that  all 
the  women  wept ;  yea,  many  of  them  afterwards 
sickened  from  excess  of  emotion  ;  and,  under  the 
impression  that  he  was  a  vampire,  it  was,  after 
some  lapse  of  time,  decided  to  remove  his  body 
from  the  grave  and  impale  it  on  a  stake,  this  being 
considered  an  approved  recipe,  certain  to  effect 
the  cure  of  the  invalid  women;  but  the  grave  was 
found  empty ! 

I  have  but  little  to  communicate  concerning  the 
fate  of  Mars,  the  ancient  god  of  war.  I  am  not 
disinclined  to  believe  that  during  the  feudal  ages 
he  availed  himself  of  the  then  prevailing  doctrine 
that  might  makes  right.  Lank  Schimmelpennig, 
nephew  of  the  executioner  of  Miinster,  once  met 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


219 


Mars  at  Bologna  and  conversed  with  him.  Shortly 
before,  he  had  served  as  a  peasant  under  Fronds- 
berg,  and  was  present  at  the  storming  of  Rome. 
Bitter  thoughts  must  have  filled  his  breast  when 
he  saw  his  ancient,  favorite  city,  and  the  temples 
wherein  he  and  his  brother  gods  had  been  so  re- 
vered, now  ignominiously  laid  waste. 

Better  than  either  Mars  or  Apollo  fared  the  god 
Bacchus  at  the  great  stampede,  and  the  legends 
relate  the  following.  Tyrol  aboTinds  with  large 
lakes,  which  are  surrounded  by  dense  forests,  whose 
magnificent  proportions  and  lofty  branches  are 
mirrored  in  the  blue  waters.  The  waters  murmur 
and  the  trees  rustle  so  mysteriously  that  a  strange 
sensation  of  awe  steals  over  the  solitary  wanderer. 
On  the  bank  of  such  a  lake  stood  the  hut  of  a 
young  fisherman,  who  earned  his  livelihood  by 
fishing  and  by  ferrying  travelers  across  the  lake. 
He  had  a  large  boat,  that  was  fastened  to  the  trunk 
of  an  old  tree  not  far  distant  from  his  dwelling. 
Here  he  lived  all  alone.  Once,  about  the  time  of 
the  autumnal  equinoxes,  verging  towards  mid- 
night, he  heard  a  knock  at  his  window,  and  on 
opening  the  door  he  beheld  three  monks,  who  had 
their  faces  muffled  in  their  cowls  and  seemed  to 
be  in  great  haste.  One  of  them  hurriedly  asked 
for  the  loan  of  the  boat,  promising  to  return  it 
within  a  few  hours.  As  they  were  three  to  one,  a 
refusal  was  out  of  the  question  :  so  he  unfastened 


220  THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 

the  boat,  and,  while  the  monks  embarked  and 
sailed  away,  he  returned  to  his  hut  and  retired 
to  rest.  With  the  facility  of  youth,  he  soon  fell 
asleep;  but  after  a  few  hours  he  was  awakened  by 
the  return  of  the  monks.  As  he  approached  them, 
one  of  them  pressed  a  silver  coin  into  his  hand 
in  payment  of  the  fare,  and  then  all  three  hurried 
hastily  away.  At  the  touch  of  the  monk's  hand 
the  fisherman  shivered  as  with  cold  ;  but  this  was 
not  caused  by  the  night-air.  A  peculiarly  chilling 
sensation  passed  through  his  limbs,  and  his  heart 
seemed  almost  frozen  :  the  fingers  of  the  monk 
were  cold  as  ice.  For  a  few  days  this  circumstance 
constantly  haunted  the  fisherman's  mind ;  but  youth 
will  eventually  shake  off  the  influence  of  the  mys- 
terious, and  the  fisherman  thought  no  more  of  the 
occurrence  until  the  following  year,  when,  again 
just  at  the  time  of  the  autumnal  equinoxes,  again 
at  midnight,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  window  of 
the  hut,  and  again  the  three  monks  appeared,  de- 
manding the  boat.  The  fisherman  delivered  up  his 
boat  with  less  anxiety  than  on  the  previous  occa- 
sion; but  when  after  a  few  hours  they  returned, 
and  the  one  monk  again  hastily  pressed  a  coin 
into  his  hand,  shuddering,  he  again  felt  the  touch 
of  the  icy  cold  fingers.  This  occurrence  was  re- 
peated every  year  at  the  same  period  and  in  the 
s'ame  manner;  and  finally,  as  the  seventh  anni- 
versary drew  near,  an  irresistible  curiosity  seized 


7 HE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


221 


upon  the  fisherman  to  learn,  at  all  costs,  the  secret 
that  was  concealed  under  the  three  cowls.  He 
piled  a  mass  of  nets  into  the  boat,  so  as  to  form 
a  hiding-place  into  which  he  could  slip  while  the 
monks  were  preparing  to  embark.  The  myste- 
rious monks  came  at  the  accustomed  time,  and  the 
fisherman  succeeded  in  hiding  himself  under  the 
nets  unobserved.  To  his  astonishment,  the  voyage 
lasted  but  a  few  minutes,  whereas  it  usually  took 
him  over  an  hour  to  reach  the  opposite  shore. 
And  greater  yet  was  his  surprise  when  here,  in 
a  locality  with  which  he  had  been  quite  familiar, 
he  beheld  a  wide  forest-glade  which  he  had  never 
before  seen,  and  which  was  covered  with  flowers 
that,  to  him,  were  of  an  entirely  new  species.  The 
trees  were  decorated  with  innumerable  lamps,  and 
vases  filled  with  blazing  rosin  stood  on  high  ped- 
estals; these,  combined  with  the  light  of  the  moon, 
which  shone  brightly  over  all,  enabled  the  fisher- 
man to  see  all  that  took  place  as  distinctly  as  if  it 
had  been  mid-day.  The  glade  swarmed  with  many 
hundreds  of  young  men  and  women,  most  of  them 
beautiful  as  pictures,  although  their  faces  were  all 
as  white  as  marble,  and  this  circumstance,  together 
with  their  apparel,  which  consisted  of  girded  tunics 
trimmed  with  purple  cord,  gave  them  the  appear- 
ance of  wandering  statues.  The  women  wore  on 
their  heads  wreaths  of  vine-leaves,  either  naturally 
or  artificially  wrought  of  gold  and  silver,  and  their 


222  ^-^-^    GODS  IN  EXILE. 

hair  was  partly  plaited  over  the  brow  into  the 
shape  of  a  crown,  and  partly  fell  in  disheveled 
ringlets  down  the  back.  The  young  men  also 
wore  on  their  heads  wreaths  of  vine-leaves.  Both 
men  and  women,  swinging  in  their  hands  golden 
staffs  covered  with  the  foliage  of  the  vine,  hastened 
jubilantly  to  greet  the  new-comers.  One  of  the 
latter  threw  aside  his  monkish  garb,  revealing  a 
repulsive,  libidinous  face,  with  pointed  goat-ears. 
He  was  an  impertinent-looking  fellow,  and  the 
nude  exterior  was  a  most  disgusting  exhibition. 
The  second  monk  also  disrobed,  and  there  came 
to  view  a  stark-naked,  big-bellied  fellow,  whose 
bald  pate  the  mischievous  women  crowned  with 
a  wreath  of  roses.  The  faces  of  the  two  monks, 
like  those  of  the  rest  of  the  assemblage,  were  white 
as  snow ;  and  white  as  snow  was  also  the  face  of 
the  third  monk,  who  laughingly  brushed  the  cowl 
from  his  head.  As  he  unbound  the  girdle  of  his 
monkish  dress,  and  with  a  gesture  of  disgust  flung 
off  from  him  the  sacred  but  dirty  garment,  together 
with  crucifix  and  rosary,  lo  !  there  stood  a  mar- 
velously  beautiful  youth,  robed  in  a  radiant,  dia- 
mond-spangled tunic.  Naught  marred  the  perfect 
symmetry  of  his  figure,  save  that  the  rounded  hips 
and  slender  waist  were  almost  feminine  in  their 
proportions.  Then,  too,  his  delicately-curved  lips 
and  soft,  mobile  features  gave  him  a  somewhat 
effeminate  appearance;  but  all  this  was  redeemed 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


223 


by  a  certain  daring,  heroic,  almost  reckless  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance.  The  women  caressed 
him  with  wild  enthusiasm,  placed  an  ivy-wreath 
upon  his  head,  and  threw  a  magnificent  leopard- 
skin  over  his  shoulders.  At  this  moment  came 
swiftly  dashing  along,  drawn  by  two  lions,  a  golden 
two-wheeled  triumphal  chariot.  Majestically,  yet 
with  a  merry  glance,  the  youth  leaped  on  the 
chariot,  guiding  the  wild  steeds  with  purple  reins. 
At  the  right  of  the  chariot  strode  one  of  his  un- 
cassocked  companions,  whose  lewd  gestures  and 
unseemly  contortions  seemed  to  fill  the  audience 
with  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  The  second  com- 
rade, the  one  with  the  bald  pate  and  fat  paunch,' 
had  been  placed  on  an  ass  by  the  jocund  women, 
and  rode  at  the  left  of  the  chariot,  carrying  in 
his  hand  a  golden  drinking-cup,  which  the  attend- 
ants were  constantly  replenishing  with  wine.  On 
moved  the  chariot,  and  behind  it  whirled  the  romp- 
ing, dancing,  frolicsome,  vine-crowned  men  and 
women.  At  the  head  of  the  triumphal  proces- 
sion marched  the  orchestra:  first  came  a  pretty, 
chubby-cheeked  youth,  playing  the  double  flute; 
next  followed  a  beautiful  nymph,  clad  in  a  high- 
girded  tunic,  strumming  the  jingling  tambourine; 
then  an  equally-bewitching  beauty,  with  a  triangle  ; 
next  came  goat-footed  fellows  with  handsome  but 
lascivious  faces, — these  were  the  trumpeters,  who 
blew  their  fanfares  on  curious  sea-shells  and  fan- 


224 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


tastically-shaped  horns ;    then  followed  the  lute- 
players. 

But,  dear  reader,  I  forget  that  you  are  a  cultured 
and  well-informed  reader,  and  have  long  ere  this 
comprehended  that  I  have  been  describing  a  Bac- 
chanalian rout,  a  Dionysian  orgy.  You  have  often 
seen  on  ancient  bas-reliefs,  or  in  the  copper  en- 
gravings of  archaeological  works,  pictures  of  the 
triumphal  processions  held  in  honor  of  the  god 
Bacchus;  artd  surely,  with  your  cultivated  and 
classic  tastes,  you  would  not  be  frightened  even  if 
at  dead  of  night,  in  the  depths  of  a  lonely  forest, 
the  lovely  spectres  of  such  a  Bacchanalian  proces- 
sion, together  with  the  customary  tipsy  on-hangers, 
should  appear  bodily  before  your  eyes.  At  the 
most  you  would  only  give  way  to  a  slight  volup- 
tuous creeping  of  the  flesh,  to  an  aesthetic  shudder, 
at  sight  of  this  pale  assemblage  of  graceful  phan- 
toms, who  have  risen  from  their  monumental 
crypts  and  sarcophaguses,  and  from  their  hiding- 
places  amid  the  ruins  of  ancient  temples,  to  cele- 
brate once  more,  with  sport  and  merry-making, 
the  triumphal  march  of  the  godlike  Bacchus,  the 
Saviour  of  sensuousness ;  to  dance  once  more  the 
merry  dance  of  heathendom,  the  can-can  of  an- 
tiquity; yea,  to  dance  it  without  a  vestige  of 
hypocritical  drapery;  to  dance  it  without  fear  of 
the  interference  of  the  sergent-de-ville  of  a  spiritu- 
alistic morality;  to  dance  it  with  the  wild  abandon 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE, 


225 


of  the  olden  time,  exulting,  boisterous,  uproari- 
ously jubilant.     Evoe  Bacche ! 

But  oh,  dear  reader,  the  poor  fisherman  was 
not,  like  yourself,  versed  in  mythology  ;  he  had 
never  made  archaeological  studies;  and  terror  and 
fear  seized  upon  him  when  he  beheld  the  Trium- 
phatorand  his  two  grotesque  acolytes  emerge  from 
their  monks'-apparel.  He  shuddered  at  the  lewd 
gestures  and  contortions  of  the  Bacchantes,  Fauns, 
and  Satyrs.  The  latter,  with  their  goats'  feet  and 
horns,  impressed  him  as  particularly  diabolical, 
and  he  regarded  the  whole  assemblage  as  a  con- 
gress of  spectres  and  demons,  who  were  seeking 
by  their  mysterious  rites  to  bring  ruin  on  all  Chris- 
tians. His  hair  stood  on  end  at  sight  of  the  reck- 
less distortions  of  a  Maenad,  who,  with  disheveled 
hair  and  head  thrown  back,  balanced  herself  by 
the  thyrsus.  His  own  brain  seemed  to  reel  as  he 
saw  the  Corybantes  in  mad  frenzy  piercing  their 
own  bodies  with  short  swords,  seeking  voluptuous- 
ness in  pain  itself  The  soft  and  tender  yet  so  ter- 
rible tones  of  the  music  seemed  to  penetrate  to 
his  very  soul,  like  a  burning,  consuming,  excru- 
ciating flame. 

Then  sight  and  hearing  forsook  the  poor  fisher- 
man. He  darted  back  to  the  boat,  and  crept  under 
the  nets,  with  chattering  teeth  and  trembling  in  all 
his  limbs  as  if  Satan  already  held  him  fast  in  his 
clutches.  Soon  after,  the  monks  also  returned  to 
20 


226  THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 

the  boat  and  shoved  off.  When  they  had  reached 
and  disembarked  at  the  original  starting-place,  the 
fisherman  managed  to  escape  unobserved  from  his 
hiding-place,  so  that  the  monks  supposed  he  had 
merely  been  behind  the  willows  awaiting  their 
return.  One  of  the  monks,  as  usual,  with  icy-cold 
fingers  pressed  the  ferriage  into  the  fisherman's 
hand,  then  all  three  hurried  away. 

For  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul,  which  he  be- 
lieved to  be  endangered,  and  also  to  guard  other 
good  Christians  from  ruin,  the  fisherman  held  him- 
self in  duty  bound  to  communicate  a  full  account 
of  the  mysterious  occurrence  to  the  Church  author- 
ities; and  as  the  superior  of  a  neighboring  Fran- 
ciscan monastery  was  in  great  repute  as  a  learned 
exorcist,  the  fisherman  determined  to  go  to  him 
without  delay.  The  rising  sun  found  him  on  his 
way  to  the  monastery,  where  with  modest  demeanor 
he  soon  stood  before  his  excellency  the  superior, 
who  received  him  seated  in  an  easy-chair  in  the 
hbrary,  and,  with  hood  drawn  closely  over  his  face, 
hstened  meditatively  while  the  fisherman  told  his 
tale  of  horror.  When  the  recital  was  finished,  the 
superior  raised  his  head,  and,  as  the  hood  fell  back, 
the  fisherman,  to  his  great  consternation  and  dis- 
may, recognized  in  the  superior  one  of  the  monks 
who  annually  sailed  over  the  lake, — the  very  one, 
in  fact,  whom  he  had  the  previous  night  seen  as  a 
heathen  demon  riding  in  the  golden  chariot  drawn 


THE    GODS  I  AT  EXILE. 


227 


by  lions.  It  was  the  same  marble-white  face,  the 
same  regular,  beautiful  features,  the  same  mouth 
with  its  delicately-curved  lips.  And  those  lips 
now  wore  a  kindly  smile,  and  from  that  mouth 
now  issued  the  gracious  and  melodious  words, 
"  Beloved  son  in  Christ,  we  willingly  believe  that 
you  have  spent  the  night  in  company  of  the  god 
Bacchus.  Your  fantastic  ghost-story  gives  ample 
proof  of  that.  Not  that  we  would  say  aught  de- 
rogatory of  this  god :  at  times  he  is  undoubtedly 
a  care-dispeller,  and  gladdens  the  heart  of  man. 
But  he  is  very  dangerous  for  those  who  cannot 
bear  much;  and  to  this  class  you  seem  to  belong. 
We  advise  you  to  partake  in  future  very  sparingly 
of  the  golden  juice  of  the  grape,  and  not  again  to 
trouble  the  Church  authorities  with  the  fantasies 
of  a  drunken  brain.  Concerning  this  last  vision  of 
yours  you  had  better  keep  a  very  quiet  tongue  in 
your  head ;  otherwise  the  strong  arm  of  our  lay 
brother  the  beadle  shall  measure  out  to  you  twenty- 
five  lashes.  And  now,  beloved  son  in  Christ,  go  to 
the  monastery  kitchen,  where  brother  butler  and 
brother  cook  will  regale  you  with  a  light  repast." 

With  this,  the  reverend  father  bestowed  the  cus-^^ 
tomary  benediction  on  the  fisherman,  and  the  latter, 
dumfounded  and  bewildered,  marched  off  to  the 
kitchen.  But  he  almost  fell  to  the  earth  in  affright 
when  here  he  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with 
brother  cook  and  brother  butler,  for,  lo  !  they  were 


228  TJ^^    GODS  IN  EXILE. 

the  same  monks  who  had  accompanied  the  supe- 
rior on  his  midnight  excursions  across  the  lake. 
He  recognized  one  by  his  fat  paunch  and  bald  head, 
and  the  other  by  his  lascivious  grin  and  goat-ears. 
But,  mindful  of  the  warning  he  had  received,  he 
kept  quite  mum;  and  only  in  later  years  did  he 
relate  this  strange  story. 

Several  old  chronicles  which  contain  similar 
legends  locate  the  scene  near  the  city  of  Speyer, 
on  the  Rhine. 

An  analogous  tradition  is  extant  along  the  coast 
of  East  Friesland.  In  the  latter  legend,  the  ancient 
conception  of  the  transportation  of  the  dead  to  the 
realm  of  Hades  is  distinctly  recognizable.  In  fact, 
it  underlies  all  those  legends.  It  is  true  that  none 
of  them  contain  any  mention  of  Charon,  the  steers- 
man of  the  boat:  this  old  fellow  seems  to  have 
entirely  disappeared  from  the  folk-lore,  and  is  to 
be  met  with  only  in  puppet-shows.  But  a  far  more 
notable  mythological  personage  is  to  be  recognized 
in  the  so-called  forwarding  agent,  or  dispatcher, 
who  makes  arrangements  for  the  transportation  of 
the  dead  and  pays  the  customary  passage-money 
into  the  hands  of  the  boatman  :  the  latter  is  gen- 
erally a  common  fisherman,  who  officiates  as  a 
substitute  for  Charon.  Notwithstanding  his  quaint 
disguise,  the  true  name  of  this  dispatcher  may 
readily  be  guessed;  and  I  shall  therefore  relate 
the  legend  as  faithfully  as  possible. 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


229 


The  shores  of  East  Friesland  that  border  on  the 
North  Sea  abound  with  bays,  which  are  used  as 
harbors  and  are  called  fiords.  On  the  farthest 
projecting  promontory  of  land  generally  stands  the 
solitary  hut  of  some  fisherman,  who  lives  here 
with  his  family,  peacefully  and  contentedly.  Here 
nature  wears  a  sad  and  melancholy  aspect.  Not 
even  the  chirping  of  a  bird  is  to  be  heard,  save  now 
and  then  the  shrill  screech  of  a  sea-gull  flying  up 
from  its  nest  among  the  sand-hills, — an  omen  of 
the  coming  storm.  The  monotonous  plashings  of 
the  restless  sea  harmonize  with  the  sombre,  shift- 
ing shadows  of  the  passing  clouds. 

Song  is  hushed  on  the  lips  of  the  human  in- 
habitants of  these  desolate  regions,  and  the  strain 
of  a  volkslied  is  never  heard.  The  people  who 
live  here  are  an  earnest,  honest,  matter-of-fact  race, 
proud  of  their  bold  spirit  and  of  the  liberties 
which  they  have  inherited  from  their  ancestors. 
Such  a  people  are  not  imaginative,  and  are  little 
given  to  metaphysical  speculations.  Fishing  is 
their  principal  support,  added  to  which  is  an  occa- 
sional pittance  of  passage-money  for  transporting 
some  traveler  to  one  of  the  adjacent  islands. 

It  is  said  that  at  a  certain  period  of  the  year, 
just  at  mid-day,  when  the  fisherman  and  his  family 
are  seated  at  table  eating  their  noonday  meal,  a 
traveler  enters  and  asks  the  master  of  the  house 
to  vouchsafe  him  an  audience  for  a  few  minutes  to 
20* 


230 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


speak  with  him  on  a  matter  of  business.     The  fish- 
erman, after  vainly  inviting  the  stranger  to  dine, 
grants  his  request,  and  they  both  step  aside  to  a 
Httle  table.     I  shall  not  describe  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  stranger  in  detail,  after  the  tedious 
manner  of  novel-writers :    a  brief  enumeration  of 
the  salient  points  will  suffice.     He  is  a  little  man, 
advanced  in  years,  but  well  preserved.     He  is,  so 
to  say,  a  youthful  graybeard :  plump,  but  not  cor- 
pulent ;    cheeks   ruddy  as   an   apple ;   small  eyes, 
which  blink  merrily  and  continually.     On  his  pow- 
dered little  head  he  wears  a  three-cornered  little 
hat.      Under  his   flaming  yellow  cloak,   with   its 
many  collars,  he  wears  the  old-fashioned  dress  of 
a  well-to-do  Holland  merchant,  such  as  we  see  de- 
picted in  old  portraits, — namely,  a  short  silk  coat 
of  a  parrot-green  color,  a  vest  embroidered  with 
flowers,  short  black  trowsers,  striped  stockings,  and 
shoes  ornamented  with  buckles.     The  latter  are  so 
brightly  polished  that  it  is  hard  to  understand  how 
the  wearer  could  trudge  afoot  through  the  slimy 
mud  of  the  coast   and  yet   keep  them   so  clean. 
His  voice   is  a  thin,  asthmatic  treble,  sometimes 
inclining  to  be  rather  lachrymose;  but  the  address 
and  bearing  of  the  little   man  are  as  grave   and 
measured  as  beseem  a  Holland  merchant.      This 
gravity,   however,   appears    to  be   more   assumed 
than  natural,  and  is  in  marked  contrast  with  the 
searching,  roving,  swift-darting  glances  of  the  eyes, 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE.  23 1 

and  with  the  ill-repressed  fidgetiness  of  the  legs 
and  arms.  That  the  stranger  is  a  Holland  merchant 
is  evidenced  not  only  by  his  apparel,  but  also  by 
the  mercantile  exactitude  and  caution  with  which 
he  endeavors  to  effect  as  favorable  a  bargain  as 
possible  for  his  employers.  He  claims  to  be  a  for- 
warding agent,  and  to  have  received  from  some  of 
his  mercantile  friends  a  commission  to  transport  a 
certain  number  of  souls,  as  many  as  can  find  room 
in  an  ordinary  boat,  from  the  coast  of  East  Fries- 
land  to  the  White  Island.  In  fulfillment  of  this 
commission,  he  adds,  he  wishes  to  know  if  the 
fisherman  will  this  night  convey  in  his  boat  the 
aforesaid  cargo  to  the  aforesaid  island  ;  in  which 
case  he  is  authorized  to  pay  the  passage-money  in 
advance,  confidently  hoping  that  in  Christian  fair- 
ness the  fisherman  will  make  his  price  very  mod- 
erate. The  Holland  merchant  (which  term  is  in 
fact  a  pleonasm,  since  every  Hollander  is  a  mer- 
chant) makes  this  proposition  with  the  utmost 
nonchalance,  as  if  it  referred  to  a  cargo  of  cheese, 
and  not  to  the  souls  of  the  dead.  The  fisherman 
is  startled  at  the  word  "  souls,"  and  a  cold  chill 
creeps  down  his  back,  for  he  immediately  com- 
prehends that  the  souls  of  the  dead  are  here  meant, 
and  that  the  stranger  is  none  other  than  the  phan- 
tom Dutchman,  who  has  already  intrusted  several 
of  his  fellow-fishermen  with  the  transportation  of 
the  souls  of  the  dead,  and  paid  them  well  for  it,  too. 


232 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


These  East  Frieslanders  are,  as  I  have  already 
remarked,  a  brave,  healthy,  practical  people ;  in 
them  is  lacking  that  morbid  imagination  which 
makes  us  so  impressible  to  the  ghostly  and  super- 
natural. Our  fisherman's  weird  dismay  lasts  but 
a  moment ;  suppressing  the  uncanny  sensation  that 
is  stealing  over  him,  he  soon  regains  his  com- 
posure, and,  intent  on  securing  as  high  a  sum  as 
possible,  he  assumes  an  air  of  supreme  indiffer- 
ence. But  after  a  little  chaffering  the  two  come 
to  an  understanding,  and  shake  hands  to  seal  the 
bargain.  The  Hollander  draws  forth  a  dirty  leather 
pouch,  filled  entirely  with  little  silver  pennies  of 
the  smallest  denomination  ever  coined  in  Holland, 
and  in  these  tiny  coins  counts  out  the  whole  amount 
of  the  fare.  With  instructions  to  the  fisherman 
to  be  ready  with  his  boat  at  the  appointed  place 
about  the  midnight  hour  when  the  moon  shall 
become  visible,  the  Hollander  takes  leave  of  the 
whole  family,  and,  declining  their  repeated  invita- 
tions to  dine,  the  grave  little  figure,  dignified  as 
ever,  trips  lightly  away. 

At  the  time  agreed  upon,  the  fisherman  appears 
at  the  appointed  place.  At  first  the  boat  is  rocked 
lightly  to  and  fro  by  the  waves ;  but  by  the  time 
the  full  moon  has  risen  above  the  horizon  the  fish- 
erman notices  that  his  bark  is  less  easily  swayed, 
and  so  it  gradually  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  in 
the  stream,  until  finally  the  water  comes  within  a 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


233 


hand's-breadth  of  the  boat's  bow.  This  circum- 
stance apprises  him  that  his  passengers,  the  souls, 
are  now  aboard,  and  he  pushes  off  from  shore 
with  his  cargo.  Although  he  strains  his  eyes  to 
the  utmost,  he  can  distinguish  nothing-  but  a  few 
vapory  streaks  that  seem  to  be  swayed  hither  and 
thither  and  to  intermingle  with  one  another,  but  as- 
sume no  definite  forms.  Listen  intently  as  he  may, 
he  hears  nothing  but  an  indescribably-faint  chirp- 
ing and  rustling.  Only  now  and  then  a  sea-gull 
with  a  shrill  scream  flies  swiftly  over  his  head ;  or 
near  him  a  fish  leaps  up  from  out  the  stream,  and 
for  a  moment  stares  at  him  with  a  vacuous  look. 
The  night-winds  sigh,  and  the  sea-breezes  grow 
more  chilly.  Everywhere  only  water,  moonlight, 
and  silence!  and  silent  as  all  around  him  is  the 
fisherman,  who  finally  reaches  the  White  Island 
and  moors  his  boat.  He  sees  no  one  on  the  strand, 
but  he  hears  a  shrill,  asthmatic,  wheezy,  lachry- 
mose voice,  which  he  recognizes  as  that  of  the 
Hollander.  The  latter  seems  to  be  reading  off  a 
list  of  proper  names,  with  a  peculiar,  monotonous 
intonation,  as  if  rehearsing  a  roll-call.  Among  the 
names  are  some  which  are  known  to  the  fisherman 
as  belonging  to  persons  who  have  died  that  year. 
During  the  reading  of  the  list,  the  boat  is  evidently 
being  gradually  lightened  of  its  load,  and  as  soon 
as  the  last  name  is  called  it  rises  suddenly  and 
floats  freely,  although  but  a  moment  before  it  was 


234 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE, 


deeply  imbedded  in  the  sand  of  the  sea-shore.  To 
the  fisherman  this  is  a  token  that  his  cargo  has 
been  properly  delivered,  and  he  rows  composedly 
back  to  his  wife  and  child,  to  his  beloved  home  on 
the  fiord. 

*  *  *  Notwithstanding  the  clever  disguise,  I 
have  ventured  to  guess  who  the  important  mytho- 
logical personage  is  that  figures  in  this  tradition. 
It  is  none  other  than  the  god  Mercury,  Hermes 
Psychopompos,  the  whilom  conductor  of  the  dead 
to  Hades,  Verily,  under  the  shabby  and  prosaic 
garb  of  a  tradesman  is  concealed  the  youthful 
and  most  accomplished  god  of  heathendom,  the 
cunning  son  of  Maia.  On  his  little  three-cornered 
hat  not  the  slightest  tuft  of  a  feather  is  to  be  seen 
which  might  remind  the  beholder  of  the  winged 
cap,  and  the  clumsy  shoes  with  steel  buckles  fail 
to  give  the  least  hint  of  the  winged  sandals.  This 
grave  and  heavy  Dutch  lead  is  quite  different  from 
the  mobile  quicksilver,  from  which  the  god  de- 
rived his  very  name.  But  the  contrast  is  so  ex- 
tremely striking  as  to  betray  his  design,  which  is 
the  more  effectually  to  disguise  himself  Perhaps 
this  mask  was  not  chosen  out  of  mere  caprice. 
Mercury  was,  as  is  well  known,  the  patron  god 
of  thieves  and  merchants,  and,  in  all  probability,  in 
choosing  a  disguise  that  should  conceal  him,  and 
a  trade  by  which  to  earn  his  livelihood,  he  took 
into  consideration  his  talents  and  antecedents. 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


235 


*  *  *  And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the  shrewd- 
est and  most  cunning  of  the  gods  became  a  mer- 
chant, and,  to  adapt  himself  most  thoroughly  to 
his  role,  became  the  ne  phis  iiltra  of  merchants, 
— a  Holland  merchant.  His  long  practice  in  the 
olden  time  as  Psychopompos,  as  conveyer  of  the 
dead  to  Hades,  marks  him  out  as  particularly  fitted 
to  conduct  the  transportation  of  the  souls  of  the 
dead  to  the  White  Island,  in  the  manner  just  de- 
scribed. 

The  White  Island  is  occasionally  also  called 
Brea,  or  Britannia.  Does  this  perhaps  refer  to 
white  Albion,  to  the  chalky  cliffs  of  the  English 
coast  ?  It  were  a  very  humorous  idea  to  designate 
England  as  the  land  of  the  dead,  as  the  Plutonian 
realm,  as  hell.  In  sooth,  by  many  a  traveler  Eng- 
land is  so  regarded. 

In  my  essay  on  the  P'aust  legend  I  discussed 
at  full  length  the  popular  superstition  concerning 
Pluto  and  his  dominion.  I  showed  how  the  realm 
of  shadows  was  transmogrified  into  hell,  and  how 
its  sable  ruler  became  more  and  more  diabolical 
and  finally  came  to  be  Satan.  Neither  Pluto, 
god  of  the  nether  regions,  nor  his  brother,  Nep- 
tune, god  of  the  sea,  emigrated  like  the  other 
gods.  Even  after  the  final  triumph  of  Christendom 
they  remained  in  their  domains,  their  respective 
elements.  No  matter  what  silly  fables  concern- 
ing him  were  invented  here  above  on  earth,  old 


236 


THE   GODS  IN  EXILE. 


Pluto  sat  by  his  Proserpine,  warm  and  cozy  down 
below. 

But  Neptune  underwent  less  of  a  metamorphosis 
than  did  his  brother  Pluto,  and  neither  church-bell 
chimes  nor  organ-strains  could  offend  his  ears  in 
the  depths  of  old  ocean,  where  he  sat  contentedly 
by  the  side  of  his  white-bosomed  wife,  Amphitrite, 
surrounded  by  his  court  of  dripping  nereids  and 
tritons.  Only  now  and  then,  when  a  young  sailor 
crossed  the  equator,  he  would  dart  up  from  the 
briny  deep,  in  his  hand  brandishing  the  trident, 
his  head  crowned  with  sea-weed,  and  his  flowing, 
silvery  beard  reaching  down  to  the  navel.  Then 
he  would  confer  on  the  neophyte  the  terrible  sea- 
water  baptism,  accompanying  it  with  a  long  unc- 
tuous harangue,  interspersed  with  coarse  sailor 
jests,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  jolly  tars.  The 
harangue  was  frequently  interrupted  by  the  spitting 
of  amber  quids  of  chewed  tobacco,  which  Neptune 
so  freely  scattered  around  him.  A  friend,  who 
gave  me  a  detailed  description  of  the  manner  in 
which  such  a  sea  miracle-play  is  performed,  assured 
me  that  the  very  sailors  that  laughed  most  heartily 
at  the  droll  antics  of  Neptune  never  for  a  moment 
doubted  the  existence  of  such  a  god,  and  some- 
times when  in  great  danger  they  even  prayed  to 
him. 

Neptune,  as  we  have  seen,  remained  monarch  of 
the  watery  realm;  and  Pluto,  notwithstanding  his 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE,  23/ 

metamorphosis  into  Satan,  still  continued  to  be 
prince  of  the  lower  regions.  They  fared  better 
than  did  their  brother  Jupiter,  who,  after  the  over- 
throw of  their  father,  Saturn,  became  ruler  of 
heaven,  and  as  sovereign  of  the  universe  resided 
in  Olympus,  where,  surrounded  by  his  merry  troop 
of  gods,  goddesses,  and  nymphs-of-honor,  he  lived 
a  joyous,  ambrosial  life,  free  from  all  care.  But 
when  the  great  catastrophe  occurred,  when  the 
supremacy  of  the  cross,  that  symbol  of  suffering, 
was  proclaimed,  then  the  great  Kronides  fled,  and 
disappeared  amid  the  tumults  and  confusion  of 
the  transmigration  of  races.  All  traces  of  him 
were  lost,  and  I  have  in  vain  consulted  ancient 
chronicles  and  old  women :  none  could  give  me 
the  least  information  concerning  his  fate.  With 
the  same  purpose  in  view,  I  have  ransacked  many 
libraries,  where  I  was  shown  the  magnificent  codi- 
ces ornamented  with  gold  and  precious  stones, 
true  odalisques  in  the  harem  of  literature.  To  the 
learned  eunuchs  who  with  such  affability  unlocked 
for  me  those  brilliant  treasures,  I  here  return  the 
customary  thanks.  It  appears  as  if  no  popular 
tradition  of  Jupiter  has  survived  through  the  Mid- 
dle Ages ;  and  all  that  I  could  gather  concerning 
him  consists  of  a  story  told  me  by  my  friend 
Niels  Andersen. 

*  *  *  The  events  that  I  am  about  to  relate,  said 
Niels  Andersen,  occurred  on  an  island,  the  exact 

21 


238 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


situation  of  which  I  cannot  tell.  Since  its  discov- 
ery no  one  has  been  able  again  to  reach  it,  being 
prevented  by  the  immense  icebergs  that  tower  like 
a  high  wall  around  the  island  and  seldom  permit 
a  near  approach.  Only  the  crew  of  a  Russian 
whaling-vessel,  which  a  storm  had  driven  so  far 
to  the  north,  ever  trod  its  soil;  and  since  then  over 
a  hundred  years  have  elapsed.  When  the  sailors 
had,  by  means  of  a  small  boat,  effected  a  landing, 
they  found  the  island  to  be  wild  and  desolate. 
Sadly  waved  the  blades  of  tall  sedgy  grass  over 
the  quicksands ;  here  and  there  grew  a  few  stunted 
fir-trees,  or  a  little  barren  shrubbery.  They  saw  a 
multitude  of  rabbits  springing  around,  on  which 
account  they  named  it  the  Island  of  Rabbits.  Only 
one  miserable  hut  gave  evidence  that  a  human  be- 
ing dwelt  there.  As  the  sailors  entered  the  hut, 
they  saw  an  old,  very  old  man,  wretchedly  clad  in 
a  garment  of  rabbit-skins  rudely  stitched  together. 
He  was  seated  in  a  stone  chair  in  front  of  the 
hearth,  trying  to  warm  his  emaciated  hands  and 
trembling  knees  by  the  flaring  brushwood  fire. 
At  his  right  side  stood  an  immense  bird,  evidently 
an  eagle,  but  which  had  been  roughly  treated  by 
time  and  shorn  of  all  its  plumage;  the  long  bristly 
quills  of  its  wings  gave  the  bird  a  highly  grotesque 
and,  at  the  same  time,  a  horribly  hideous  appear- 
ance. At  the  old  man's  left,  squatted  on  the  earth, 
was  an  extraordinarily  large  hairless  goat,  which 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


239 


seemed  to  be  very  old  ;  although  its  udders  were 
full  of  milk,  and  the  nipples  had  a  fresh,  rosy,  milk- 
giving  appearance. 

Among  the  sailors  were  several  Greeks,  one  of 
whom,  not  thinking  that  his  words  would  be  un- 
derstood by  the  aged  inhabitant  of  the  hut,  re- 
marked in  the  Greek  language  to  a  comrade,  "This 
old  fellow  is  either  a  spectre  or  an  evil  demon." 
But  at  these  words  the  old  man  suddenly  arose 
from  his  seat,  and  to  their  great  surprise  the  sailors 
beheld  a  stately  figure,  which,  in  spite  of  its  ad- 
vanced a<^e,  raised  itself  erect  with  commandincr, 
yea,  with  majestic  dignity,  his  head  almost  touch- 
ing the  rafters  of  the  roof  The  features,  too,  al- 
though rugged  and  weather-beaten,  showed  traces 
of  original  beauty,  they  were  so  noble  and  well 
proportioned.  A  few  silvery  locks  fell  over  his 
brow,  which  was  furrowed  by  pride  and  age.  His 
eyes  had  a  dim  and  fixed  look,  but  occasionally 
they  would  still  gleam  piercingly  ;  and  from  his 
mouth  were  heard  in  the  melodious  and  sonorous 
words  of  the  ancient  Greek  language,  "  You  are 
mistaken,  young  man  ;  I  am  neither  a  spectre  nor 
an  evil  demon ;  I  am  an  unhappy  old  man,  who 
once  knew  better  days.     But  who  are  ye  ?" 

The  sailors  explained  the  accident  which  had 
befallen  them,  and  then  inquired  concerning  all  on 
the  island.  The  information,  however,  was  very 
meagre.     The  old  man  told  them  that  since  time 


240 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


immemorial  he  had  inhabited  this  island,  whose 
bulwarks  of  ice  served  him  as  a  secure  asylum 
against  his  inexorable  foes.  He  subsisted  prin- 
cipally by  catching  rabbits,  and  every  year,  when 
the  floating  icebergs  had  settled,  a  few  bands  of 
savages  crossed  over  on  sleds,  and  to  them  he  sold 
rabbit-skins,  receiving  in  exchange  the  articles  of 
indispensable  necessity.  The  whales,  which  some- 
times came  swimming  close  to  the  island,  were  his 
favorite  company.  But  it  gave  him  pleasure  to 
hear  again  his  native  tongue,  for  he  too  was  a 
Greek.  He  entreated  his  countrymen  to  give  him 
an  account  of  the  present  condition  of  Greece. 
That  the  cross  had  been  torn  down  from  the  bat- 
tlements of  Grecian  cities  apparently  caused  the 
old  man  a  malicious  satisfaction  ;  but  it  did  not 
altogether  please  him  when  he  heard  that  the 
crescent  had  been  planted  there  instead.  It  was 
strange  that  none  of  the  sailors  knew  the  names 
of  the  cities  concerning  which  the  old  man  in- 
quired, and  which,  as  he  assured  them,  had  in  his 
time  been  in  their  full  glory.  In  like  manner  the 
names  of  the  present  cities  and  villages  of  Greece, 
which  were  mentioned  by  the  sailors,  were  un- 
known to  him  ;  at  this  the  old  man  would  shake  his 
head  sadly,  and  the  sailors  looked  at  one  another 
quite  perplexed.  They  noticed  that  he  knew  ex- 
actly all  the  localities  and  geographical  peculiari- 
ties of  Greece ;  and  he  described  so  accurately  and 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE.  24 1 

vividly  the  bays,  the  peninsulas,  the  mountain- 
ridges,  even  the  knolls  and  most  trifling  rocky  ele- 
vations, that  his  ignorance  of  the  common  names  of 
these  localities  was  all  the  more  surprising.  With 
especial  interest,  with  a  certain  anxiety  even,  he 
questioned  them  concerning  an  ancient  temple 
which  in  his  time,  he  assured  them,  had  been  the 
most  beautiful  in  all  Greece ;  but  none  of  his  hear- 
ers knew  the  name,  which  he  pronounced  with  a 
loving  tenderness.  But  finally,  when  the  old  man 
had  again  described  the  site  of  the  temple  with  the 
utmost  particularity,  a  young  sailor  recognized  the 
place  by  the  description. 

The  village  wherein  he  was  born,  said  the  young 
man,  was  situated  hard  by,  and  when  a  boy  he  had 
often  tended  his  father's  swine  at  the  very  place 
where  there  had  been  found  ruins  of  an  ancient 
structure,  indicating  a  magnificent  grandeur  in 
the  past.  Now,  only  a  few  large  marble  pillars 
remained  standing:  some  were  plain,  unadorned 
columns,  others  were  surmounted  by  the  square 
stones  of  a  gable.  From  the  cracks  of  the  ma- 
sonry the  blooming  honeysuckle-vines  and  red 
bell-shaped  flowers  trailed  downwards.  Other 
pillars — among  the  number  some  of  rose-colored 
marble — lay  shattered  on  the  ground,  and  the  costly 
marble  head-pieces,  ornamented  with  beautiful 
sculpture  representing  foliage  and  flowers,  were 
overgrown  by  rank  creepers  and  grasses.  Half 
21* 


242 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE, 


buried  in  the  earth  lay  huge  marble  blocks,  some 
of  which  were  squares,  such  as  were  used  for  the 
walls ;  others  were  three-cornered  slabs  for  roof- 
pieces.  Over  them  waved  a  large,  wild  fig-tree, 
which  had  grown  up  out  of  the  ruins.  Under  the 
shadow  of  that  tree,  continued  the  young  man,  he 
had  passed  whole  hours  in  examining  the  strange 
figures  carved  on  the  large  marble  blocks  :  they 
seemed  to  be  pictorial  representations  of  all  sorts 
of  sports  and  combats,  and  were  quite  pleasing  to 
look  at,  but,  alas  !  much  injured  by  exposure  and 
overgrown  with  moss  and  ivy.  His  father,  whom 
he  had  questioned  in  regard  to  the  mysterious 
signification  of  those  pillars  and  sculptures,  told 
him  that  these  were  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  pagan 
temple,  and  had  once  been  the  abode  of  a  wicked, 
heathen  god,  who  had  here  wantoned  in  lewd 
debauchery  and  unnatural  vices  and  had  estab- 
lished a  worship  consisting  of  the  most  bloody  and 
terrible  rites.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  the  unen- 
lightened heathen  were  accustomed  to  slaughter, 
in  his  honor,  a  hundred  oxen  at  a  time,  and  the 
hollowed  marble  block  into  which  was  gathered 
the  blood  of  the  sacrifices  was  yet  in  existence. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  very  stone  trough  which  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  using  as  a  receptacle  for  slop 
wherewith  to  feed  the  swine. 

As  the  young  sailor  spoke  these  words,  the  old 
man  heaved  a  sigh  that  betrayed  the  most  terrible 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE.  243 

anguish.  Tottering-,  he  sank  into  his  stone  chair, 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  wept  Hke 
a  child.  The  great,  gaunt  bird,  with  a  shrill 
screech,  flapped  its  immense  wings,  and  menaced 
the  strangers  with  claws  and  beak.  But  the  old 
goat  licked  its  master's  hand,  and  bleated  mourn- 
fully and  consolingly. 

At  this  strange  sight,  an  uncanny  terror  seized 
upon  the  sailors:  they  hurriedly  left  the  hut,  and 
were  ill  at  ease  until  they  could  no  longer  hear  the 
sobbing  of  the  old  man,  the  screaming  of  the  bird, 
and  the  bleating  of  the  goat.  When  they  were 
safely  aboard  the  boat,  they  narrated  their  adven- 
ture. Among  the  crew  was  a  learned  Russian, 
Professor  of  Philosophy  among  the  faculty  at 
Kazan;  and  he  declared  the  matter  to  be  highly 
important.  With  his  forefinger  held  knowingly  to 
the  side  of  his  nose,  he  assured  the  sailors  that  the 
old  man  of  the  island  was  undoubtedly  the  former 
king  of  gods,  the  ancient  god  Jupiter,  son  of  Saturn 
and  Rhea.  The  bird  at  his  side  was  clearly  the 
eagle  that  once  carried  in  its  claws  the  terrible 
thunderbolts.  And  the  old  goat  was,  in  all  prob- 
ability, none  other  than  Althea,  Jupiter's  old  nurse, 
who  had  suckled  him  in  Crete,  and  now  in  exile 
again  nourished  him  with  her  milk. 

This  is  the  story  as  toid  to  me  by  Niels  Ander- 
sen; and  I  must  confess  that  it  filled  my  soul  with 
a  profound  melancholy.     Decay  is  secretly  under- 


244 


THE    GODS  IN  EXILE. 


mining  all  that  is  great  in  the  universe,  and  the 
gods  themselves  must  finally  succumb  to  the  same 
miserable  destiny.  The  iron  law  of  fate  so  wills 
it,  and  even  the  greatest  of  the  immortals  must 
submissively  bow  his  head.  He  of  whom  Homer 
sang,  and  whom  Phidias  sculptured  in  gold  and 
ivory,  he  at  whose  glance  earth  trembled,  he,  the 
lover  of  Leda,  Alcmena,  Semele,  Danae,  Callisto, 
lo,  Europa,  etc., — even  he  is  compelled  to  hide 
himself  behind  the  icebergs  of  the  North  Pole, 
and  in  order  to  prolong  his  wretched  existence 
must  deal  in  rabbit-skins,  like  a  shabby  Savoyard ! 
I  do  not  doubt  that  there  are  people  who  will 
derive  a  malicious  pleasure  from  such  a  specta- 
cle. They  are,  perhaps,  the  descendants  of  those 
unfortunate  oxen  who,  in  hecatombs,  were  slaugh- 
tered on  the  altars  of  Jupiter.  Rejoice!  avenged 
is  the  blood  of  your  ancestors,  those  poor  martyrs 
of  superstition.  But  we,  who  have  no  hereditary 
grudge  rankling  in  us,  we  are  touched  at  the  sight 
of  fallen  greatness,  and  withhold  not  our  holiest 
compassion. 


FROM   THE   PREFACE   TO   "CONFESSIONS." 

A  CERTAIN  characteristic  sentimentality  always 
clings  to  our  German  rascals.  They  are  no  cold, 
unfeeling  rogues,  but  tender-hearted  scoundrels. 
They  have  emotional  natures ;  they  take  a  warm 
interest  in  the  fate  of  those  whom  they  rob,  and 
they  are  not  to  be  got  rid  of  Even  our  noble 
light-fingered  gentry  are  not  mere  egotists,  who 
steal  only  for  themselves,  but  they  seek  to  acquire 
filthy  lucre  in  order  that  they  may  do  good  there- 
with. Such  a  one  was  the  nimble-fingered  clieva- 
Her  iVindustrie  who  sought  to  forestall  the  German 
edition  of  my  "Gods  in  Exile"  by  a  hurried  trans- 
lation from  the  French,  in  which  language  it  origi- 
nally appeared.  Owing  to  the  imperfection  of  the 
laws  relating  to  copyright,  such  thievish  rascals 
may  with  impunity  rob  the  poor  author  of  his 
hard-earned  and  pitiful  support.  The  so-called 
translation  of  my  "  Gods  in  Exile"  was  accom- 
panied by  a  compilation  of  various  newspaper 
articles,  giving  a  very  touching  account  of  my 
present  miserable  condition,  and  the  senti'mental 
scoundrel  of  a  translator  even  goes  so  far  as  to 

245 


246 


FROM  THE  PREFACE    TO  ''CONFESSIONS. 


express  his  great  sorrow  at  the  sad  state  of  my 
health.  The  sketch  contained  a  minute  descrip- 
tion of  my  person,  from  head  to  foot,  which  elicited 
from  a  witty  friend  the  remark,  "Truly,  we  live  in 
a  topsy-turvy  world,  and  nowadays  it  is  the  thief 
who  publishes  a  description  of  the  honest  man 
whom  he  has  robbed." 


CONFESSIONS. 


A  WITTY  Frenchman — a  few  years  ago  these 
words  would  have  been  a  pleonasm — once  dubbed 
me  an  unfrocked  Romanticist.  I  have  a  weakness 
for  all  that  is  witty;  and,  spiteful  as  was  this  appel- 
lation, it  nevertheless  delighted  me  highly.  Not- 
withstanding the  war  of  extermination  that  I  had 
waged  against  Romanticism,  I  always  remained  a 
Romanticist  at  heart,  and  that  in  a  higher  degree 
than  I  myself  realized.  After  I  had  delivered  the 
most  deadly  blows  against  the  taste  for  the  poetry 
of  the  Romantic  school,  there  stole  over  me  an 
inexpressible  yearning  for  the  blue  flower  in  the 
fairy-land  of  Romanticism,  and  I  grasped  the  magic 
lyre  and  sang  a  song  wherein  I  gave  full  sway  to 
all  the  sweet  extravagances,  to  all  the  intoxication 
of  moonlight,  to  all  the  blooming,  nightingale-like 
fancies,  once  so  fondly  loved.  I  know  it  was  "the 
last  free  forest-song  of  Romanticism,"  and  I  am 
its  last  poet.  With  me  the  old  German  lyric 
school    ends;    with  me  the   modern  lyric  school 

247 


248 


CONFESSIONS. 


of  Germany  begins.  Writers  on  German  literature 
will  assign  to  me  this  double  role.  It  would  be 
unseemly  for  me  to  speak  at  length  on  this  subject, 
but  I  may  with  justice  claim  a  liberal  space  in  the 
history  of  German  Romanticism.  For  this  reason 
I  ought  to  hav^e  included  in  my  account  of  the 
Romantic  school  a  review  of  my  own  writings. 
By  my  omission  to  do  this,  a  gap  has  been  left 
which  I  cannot  easily  fill.  To  write  a  criticism  of 
one's  self  is  an  embarrassing  and  impossible  task. 
I  should  be  a  conceited  coxcomb  to  obtrude  the 
good  I  might  be  able  to  say  of  myself,  and  I  should 
be  a  great  fool  to  proclaim  to  the  whole  world  the 
defects  of  which  I  might  also  be  conscious.  Even 
with  the  most  honest  desire  to  be  sincere,  no  one 
has  as  yet  succeeded  in  doing  it, — neither  Saint 
Augustine,  the  pious  bishop  of  Hippo,  nor  the 
Genevese  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, — least  of  all 
the  latter,  who  proclaimed  himself  the  man  of 
truth  and  nature,  but  was  really  more  untruthful 
and  unnatural  than  his  cotemporaries. 

*  *  *  Rousseau,  who  in  his  own  person  also 
slandered  human  nature,  was  yet  true  to  it  in 
respect  to  our  primitive  weakness,  which  consists 
in  always  wishing  to  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  as  something  different  from  what  we  really 
are.  His  self-portraiture  is  a  lie,  admirably  exe- 
cuted, but  still  only  a  brilliant  lie. 

I  recently  read  an  anecdote  concerning  the  King 


CONFESSIONS. 


249 


of  Ashantee  which  illustrates  in  a  very  amusing 
manner  this  weakness  of  human  nature.  When 
Major  Bowditch  was  despatched  as  resident  am- 
bassador to  the  court  of  that  powerful  African 
monarch,  he  sought  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the 
courtiers,  especially  with  the  court-ladies,  by  taking 
their  portraits.  The  king,  who  was  astonished  at 
the  accuracy  of  the  likenesses,  requested  that  he 
also  might  be  painted,  and  had  already  had  sev- 
eral sittings,  when  the  artist  noticed  in  the  features 
of  the  king,  who  had  often  sprung  up  to  observe 
the  progress  of  the  picture,  the  peculiar  restless- 
ness and  embarrassment  of  one  who  has  a  request 
on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  and  yet  hesitates  to  ex- 
press it.  The  painter  pressed  his  majesty  to  tell 
his  wish,  until  at  last  the  poor  African  king  in- 
quired in  a  low  voice  if  he  could  not  be  painted 
white.  And  so  it  is.  The  swarthy  negro  king 
wish'es  to  be  painted  white.  But  do  not  laugh 
at  the  poor  African  :  every  human  being  is  such 
another  neg-ro  kincf  and  all  of  us  would  like  to 
appear  before  the  public  in  a  different  color  from 
that  which  fate  has  given  us.  Fully  realizing  this, 
I  took  heed  not  to  draw  my  own  portrait  in  my 
review  of  the  Romantic  school.  But  in  the  follow- 
ing pages  I  shall  have  ample  occasion  to  speak  of 
myself,  and  this  will  to  a  certain  extent  fill  up  the 
gap  caused  by  the  lacking  portrait;  for  I  have 
here  undertaken  to  describe  for  the  reader's  benefit 


250  .  CONFESSIONS. 

and  enlightenment  the  philosophical  and  religious 
changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  author's 
mind  since  my  book  "  De  TAllemagne"  was  written. 

Fear  not  that  I  shall  paint  myself  too  white,  and 
my  fellows-beings  too  black.  I  shall  always  give 
my  own  colors  with  exact  fidelity,  so  that  it  may 
be  known  how  far  my  judgment  is  to  be  trusted 
when  I  draw  the  portraits  of  others. 

*  *  *  IMadame  de  Stael's  hate  of  the  Emperor 
is  the  soul  of  her  book  "  De  I'Allemagne,"  and, 
although  his  name  is  not  mentioned  therein,  it  is 
noticeable  how  at  every  line  the  authoress  squints 
at  the  Tuileries.  I  doubt  not  that  the  book  an- 
noyed the  Emperor  more  than  the  most  direct 
attack  ;  for  nothing  so  much  irritates  a  man  as  a 
woman's  petty  needle-pricks.  We  are  prepared 
against  sabre-strokes,  but  the  needles  pierce  the 
most  vulnerable  part. 

Oh,  the  women  !  we  must  forgive  them  much, 
for  they  love  much, — and  man)'.  Their  hate  is, 
in  fact,  only  love  turned  the  wrong  way.  At  times 
they  try  to  injure  us,  but  only  because  they  hope 
thereby  to  please  some  other  man.  When  they 
write,  one  eye  is  on  the  paper  and  the  other  on 
some  man.  This  rule  applies  to  all  authoresses, 
with  the  exception  of  Countess  Hahn-Hahn,  who 
has  only  one  eye.  We  male  authors  have  also  our 
prejudices.  We  write  for  or  against  something, 
for  or  against  an  idea,  for  or  against  a  party ;  but 


CONFESSIONS. 


25 


women  always  write  for  or  against  some  particular 
man,  or,  to  express  it  more  correctly,  on  account 
of  some  particular  man.  We  men  will  sometimes 
lie  outright;  women,  like  all  passive  creatures, 
seldom  invent,  but  can  so  distort  a  fact  that  they 
can  thereby  injure  us  more  surely  than  by  a  down- 
right lie. 

Yes,  women  are  dangerous;  but  I  must  admit 
that  beautiful  women  are  not  so  dangerous  as  those 
who  have  more  intellectual  than  physical  attrac- 
tions ;  for  the  former  are  accustomed  to  have  men 
pay  court  to  them,  while  the  latter  meet  the  vanity 
of  men  half-way,  and  through  the  bait  of  flattery 
acquire  a  more  powerful  influence  than  is  possible 
to  those  endowed' merely  with  beauty. 

I  by  no  means  intend  to  insinuate  that  Madame 
de  Stael  was  ugly ;  but  beauty  is  something  quite 
different.  She  had  single  points  which  were  pleas- 
ing; but  the  effect  as  a  whole  was  anything  but 
enchanting. 

To  nervous  persons,  like  the  sainted  Schiller, 
her  custom  of  continually  twirling  between  her 
fingers  some  small  article  was  particularly  annoy- 
ing. This  habit  made  poor  Schiller  dizzy,  and  in 
desperation  he  grasped  her  pretty  hand  to  hold  it 
quiet.  This  innocent  action  led  Madame  de  Stael 
to  believe  that  the  tender-hearted  poet  was  over- 
powered by  the  magic  of  her  personal  charms.  I 
am   told   that   she   really  had  very  pretty   hands 


252 


CONFESSIONS. 


and  beautiful  arms,  which  she  always  managed 
to  display.  Surely  the  Venus  of  Milo  could  not 
show  such  beautiful  arms  !  Her  teeth  surpassed 
in  whiteness  those  of  the  finest  steed  of  Araby. 
She  had  very  large,  beautiful  eyes,  a  dozen  amo- 
rets  would  have  found  room  on  her  lips,  and  her 
smile  is  said  to  have  been  very  sweet :  therefore 
slie  could  not  have  been  ugly, — no  woman  is  ugly. 
But  I  venture  to  say  that  had  fair  Helen  of  Sparta 
looked  so,  the  Trojan  war  would  not  have  occurred, 
the  strongholds  of  Priam  would  not  have  been 
burned,  and  Homer  would  never  have  sung  of  the 
wrath  of  Pelidean  Achilles. 

*  *  *  In  my  Memoirs  I  relate  with  more  detail 
than  is  admissible  here  how  after  the  French  Rev- 
olution of  July,  1830,  I  emigrated  to  Paris,  where 
I  have  ever  since  lived  peacefully  and  contentedly. 
What  I  did  and  suffered  during  the  Restoration  will 
be  communicated  at  a  time  when  the  disinterested- 
ness of  such  a  publication  will  no  longer  be  liable 
to  doubt  or  suspicion.  I  worked  much  and  suf- 
fered much  ;  and  about  the  time  that  the  sun  of  the 
July  revolution  arose  in  France  I  had  gradually 
become  very  weary,  and  needed  recreation.  More- 
over, the  air  of  my  native  land  was  daily  becoming 
more  unwholesome  for  me,  and  I  was  compelled 
to  contemplate  seriously  a  change  of  climate.  I 
had  visions:  in  the  clouds  I  saw  all  sorts  of  hor- 
rible, grotesque  faces,  that  annoyed  me  with  their 


CONFESSIONS.  253 

grimaces.  It  sometimes  appeared  to  me  as  if  the 
sun  were  a  Prussian  cockade.  At  night  I  dreamed 
of  a  hideous  black  vulture  that  preyed  on  my 
liver;  and  I  was  becoming  very  melancholy.  In 
addition  to  all  this,  I  had  become  acquainted  with 
an  old  magistrate  from  Berlin  who  had  spent  many 
years  in  the  fortress  of  Spandau,  and  who  described 
to  me  how  unpleasant  it  was  in  winter  to  wear  iron 
manacles.  I  thought  it  very  unchristian-like  not 
to  warm  the  irons  in  winter,  for  if  our  chains  were 
only  warmed  somewhat  they  would  not  seem  so 
very  unpleasant,  and  even  sensitive  natures  could 
well  endure  them.  The  chains  ought  also  to  be 
perfumed  with  the  essences  of  roses  and  laurels,  as 
is  the  custom  in  France.  I  inquired  of  my  friend 
the  magistrate  if  oysters  were  often  served  at 
Spandau.  He  answered,  no;  Spandau  was  too  far 
distant  from  the  sea.  Meat  also,  he  said,  was  sel- 
dom to  be  had,  and  the  only  fowls  were  the  flies 
which  fell  into  one's  soup.  About  the  same  time 
I  became  acquainted  with  a  commercial  traveler  of 
a  French  wine  establishment,  who  was  never  tired 
of  praising  the  merry  life  of  Paris, — how  the  air 
was  full  of  music,  how  from  morning  until  night 
might  be  heard  the  singing  of  the  Marseillaise  and 
other  patriotic  songs.  He  told  me  that  on  every 
street-corner  was  the  inscription  "liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity."  He  likewise  recommended  the 
champagne  of  his  firm,  and  gave  me  a  large  num- 


254 


CONFESSIONS. 


ber  of  Its  business-cards.  He  also  promised  to 
furnish  me  with  letters  of  introduction  to  the  best 
Parisian  restaurants,  in  case  I  should  visit  Paris. 
As  I  really  did  need  recreation,  and  as  Spandau 
was  at  too  great  a  distance  from  the  sea  to  procure 
oysters,  and  as  the  fowl  soup  of  Spandau  was  not 
to  my  taste,  and  as,  moreover,  the  Prussian  chains 
were  too  cold  in  winter  and  might  not  be  con- 
ducive to  my  good  health,  for  these  reasons  I 
determined  to  go  to  Paris  and  to  drink  champagne 
and  hear  the  strains  of  the  Marseillaise  in  their 
native  country. 

I  crossed  the  Rhine  on  May  ist,  1831.  I  did 
not  see  the  old  river-god,  father  Rhine,  so  I  con- 
tented myself  with  dropping  my  visiting-card  into 
the  water.  I  am  told  that  he  was  sitting  down 
below,  conning  his  French  grammar.  For  during 
the  Prussian  rule  his  French  had  grown  rusty  from 
long  disuse,  and  now  he  wished  to  practice  it  anew, 
in  order  to  be  prepared  for  contingencies. 

Methought  I  could  hear  him  below,  conjugating: 
"J'aime,  tu  aimes,  il  aime;  nous  aimons" — but  what 
does  he  love?     Surely  not  the  Prussians! 

I  awoke  at  St.  Denis  from  a  refreshing  morning 
slumber,  and  heard  for  the  first  time  the  shout  of 
the  driver,  "  Paris !  Paris !"  Here  we  already  inhaled 
the  atmosphere  of  the  capital,  now  visible  on  the 
horizon.  A  rascally  lackey  tried  to  persuade  me 
to  visit  the  royal  sepulchre  at  St.  Denis;  but  I  had 


CONFESSIONS. 


255 


not  come  to  France  to  see  dead  kings.  I  soon 
reached  Paris,  and  entered  through  the  triumphal 
arch  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Denis,  which  was  origi- 
nally erected  in  honor  of  Louis  XV.,  but  now 
served  to  grace  my  entry  into  Paris.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  meeting  such  multitudes  of  well-dressed 
people,  tastefully  arrayed  like  the  pictures  of  a 
fashion-journal.  I  was  also  impressed  by  the  fact 
that  they  all  spoke  French,  which  in  Germany  is 
the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  higher  classes.  Ac- 
cording to  this,  the  French  common  people  are  as 
noble  as  are  our  German  nobility.  The  men  were 
all  polite,  and  the  pretty  women  all  smiled  graci- 
ously. If  some  one  accidentally  jostled  me  with- 
out immediately  asking  pardon,  it  was  safe  to  wager 
that  it  was  a  fellow-countryman.  And  if  a  pretty 
woman  looked  glum,  she  had  either  eaten  sour- 
krout  or  could  read  Klopstock  in  the  original.  I 
found  everything  quite  charming.  The  skies  were 
so  blue,  the  air  so  balmy,  and  here  and  there  the 
rays  of  the  "sun  of  July"  were  still  glimmering. 
The  cheeks  of  the  beauteous  Lutece  were  still 
flushed  from  the  burning  kisses  of  that  sun,  and  the 
bridal  flowers  on  her  bosom  were  not  yet  wilted. 
But  at  the  street-corners  the  words  "liberte,  egalite, 
fraternite"  had  already  been  erased. 

I  immediately  visited  the  restaurants  to  which  I 
had  letters  of  introduction.  The  landlords  assured 
me  that  they  would  have  made  me  welcome  even 


256  CONFESSION'S. 

without  letters  of  introduction,  for  I  had  an  hon- 
est and  distinguished  appearance,  which  in  itself 
was  a  sufficient  recommendation.  Never  did  a 
German  landlord  so  address  me,  even  if  he  thought 
it  Such  a  churlish  fellow  feels  himself  in  duty 
bound  to  suppress  all  pleasant  speeches,  and  thinks 
that  German  bluntness  demands  that  he  shall  tell 
us  the  most  disagreeable  things  to  our  very  faces. 
In  the  manner,  and  even  in  the  language,  of  the 
French,  there  is  so  much  delicious  flattery,  which 
costs  so  little,  and  is  yet  so  gratifying.  My  poor 
sensitive  soul,  which  had  shrunk  with  shyness  from 
the  rudeness  of  the  fatherland,  again  expanded 
under  the  genial  influence  of  French  urbanity. 
God  has  given  us  tongues  that  we  may  say  pleasant 
things  to  our  friends  and  bitter  truths  to  our  ene- 
mies. My  French  had  grown  rusty  since  the  battle 
of  Waterloo,  but  after  half  an  hour's  conversation 
with  a  pretty  flower-girl  in  the  corridor  of  L'Opera 
it  soon  flowed  fluently  again.  I  managed  to  stam- 
mer forth  gallant  phrases  in  broken  French,  and 
explained  to  the  little  charmer  the  Linnaean  system, 
in  which  flowers  are  classified  according  to  their 
stamens.  The  little  one  practiced  a  different 
.system,  and  divided  flowers  into  those  which  are 
pleasing  and  those  which  are  unpleasing.  I  be- 
lieve that  she  applied  a  similar  classification  to 
men.  She  was  surprised  that,  notwithstanding 
my  youth,  I  was  so  learned,  and  spread  the  fame 


CONFESSIONS. 


257 


of  my  erudition  through  the  whole  passage  de 
r Opera.  I  inhaled  with  rapturous  delight  the 
delicious  aroma  of  flattery,  and  amused  myself 
charmingly.  I  walked  on  flowers,  and  many  a 
roasted  pigeon  came  flying  into  my  gaping  mouth. 
*  *  *  Among  the  notabilities  whom  I  met  soon 
after  my  arrival  in  Paris  was  Victor  Bohain;  and  I 
love  to  recall  to  memory  the  jovial,  intellectual 
form  of  him  who  did  so  much  to  dispel  the  clouds 
from  the  brow  of  the  German  dreamer,  and  to  in- 
itiate his  sorrow-laden  heart  into  the  gayeties  of 
French  life.  He  had  at  that  time  already  founded 
the  "Europe  Litteraire,"  and  as  editor  solicited  me 
to  write  for  his  journal  several  articles  on  Germany, 
after  the  genre  of  Madame  de  Stael.  I  promised 
to  furnish  the  articles,  particularly  mentioning, 
however,  that  I  should  write  them  in  a  style  quite 
different  from  the  genre  of  Madame  de  Stael. 
"That  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me,"  was  the 
laughing  answer:  "like  Voltaire,  I  tolerate  every 
genre,  excepting  only  the  genre  ennuyeux."  And 
in  order  that  I,  poor  German,  should  not  fall  into 
the  genre  ennuyeux,  friend  Bohain  often  invited  me 
to  dine  with  him,  and  stimulated  my  brain  with 
champagne.  No  one  knew  better  than  he  how  to 
arrange  a  dinner  at  which  one  should  not  only 
enjoy  the  best  cuisine,  but  be  most  pleasantly  en- 
tertained. No  one  could  do  the  honors  of  host 
so  well  as  he;  and  he  was   certainly  justified  in 


258 


CONFESSIOXS. 


charging  the  stockholders  of  the  "  Europe  Litte- 
raire"  with  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  as  the 
expense  of  these  banquets.  Even  his  wooden  leg 
contributed  to  the  humor  of  the  man,  and  when  he 
hobbled  around  the  table,  serving  out  champagne 
to  his  guests,  he  resembled  Vulcan  performing  the 
duties  of  Hebe's  office  amidst  the  uproarious  mirth 
of  the  assembled  gods.  Where  is  Victor  Bohain 
now  ?  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him  for  a  long 
period.  The  last  I  saw  of  him  was  about  ten 
years  ago,  at  an  inn  at  Granville,  a  little  seaport 
town  of  Normandy.  He  had  just  come  over  from 
England,  where  he  had  been  studying  the  colossal 
national  debt  of  that  country,  in  this  occupation 
smothering  the  recollection  of  his  own  little  per- 
sonal debts.  He  was  seated  at  a  table,  with  a  bot- 
tle of  chan>pagne  and  glasses  before  him,  earnestly 
explaining  to  an  open-mouthed,  stupid-looking 
citizen  a  business  project  by  which,  as  Bohain  elo- 
quently demonstrated,  a  million  could  be  realized. 
Bohain  always  had  a  great  fondness  for  specula- 
tions, and  in  all  his  projects  there  was  always  a 
million  in  prospect, — never  less  than  a  million. 
His  friends  nicknamed  him,  on  this  account.  Mon- 
sieur Million. 

*  *  *  The  founding  of  the  "  Europe  Litteraire" 
was  an  excellent  idea.  Its  success  seemed  assured, 
and  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  why  it 
failed.     Only  one  evening  before  the  day  on  which 


CONFESSWA'S.  259 

the  suspension  occurred,  Victor  Bohain  gave  a 
brilliant  ball  in  the  editorial  salons  of  the  journal, 
at  which  he  danced  with  his  three-hundred  stock- 
holders, just  like  Leonidas  with  his  three  hundred 
Spartans  the  day  before  the  battle  of  Thermopylae. 
Every  time  that  I  behold  in  the  gallery  of  the 
Louvre  the  painting  by  David  which  portrays  that 
scene  of  antique  heroism,  I  am  reminded  of  the 
last  ball  of  Victor  Bohain.  Just  like  the  death- 
braving  king  in  David's  picture,  so  stood  Victor 
Bohain  on  his  solitary  leg ;  it  was  the  same  classic 
pose.  Stranger,  when  thou  strollest  in  Paris 
through  the  Chaussee  d'Antin  towards  the  Boule- 
vards and  findest  thyself  in  the  low-lying,  filthy 
street  that  was  once  called  the  Rue  Passe  du  Rem- 
part,  know  that  thou  standest  here  at  the  Ther- 
mopylae of  the  "Europe  Litteraire,"  where  Victor 
Bohain  with  his  three  hundred  stockholders  so 
heroically  fell. 

*  *  *  In  my  articles  on  German  philosophy  I 
blabbed  without  reserve  the  secrets  of  the  schools, 
which,  draped  in  scholastic  formulas,  were  pre- 
viously known  only  to  the  initiated.  My  revela- 
tions excited  the  greatest  surprise  in  France,  and 
I  remember  that  leading  French  thinkers  naively 
confessed  to  me  that  they  had  always  believed 
German  philosophy  to  be  a  peculiar  mystic  fog, 
behind  which  divinity  lay  hidden  as  in  a  cloud, 
and  that  German  philosophers  were  ecstatic  seers, 


26o  CONFESSIONS. 

filled  with  piety  and  the  fear  of  God.  It  is  not 
my  fault  that  German  philosophy  is  just  the  re- 
verse of  that  which  until  now  we  have  called 
piety  and  fear  of  God,  and  that  our  latest  phi- 
losophers have  proclaimed  downright  atheism  to 
be  the  last  word  of  German  philosophy.  Relent- 
lessly and  with  bacchantic  recklessness  they  tore 
aside  the  blue  curtain  from  the  German  heavens, 
and  cried,  "  Lo  and  behold!  all  the  gods  have 
flown,  and  there  above  sits  only  an  old  spinster 
with  leaden  hands  and  sorrowful  heart, — Neces- 
sity." 

Alas !  what  then  sounded  so  strange  is  now 
being  preached  from  all  the  house-tops  in  Ger- 
many, and  the  fanatic  zeal  of  some  of  these  prop- 
agandists is  terrible!  We  have  now  bigoted  monks 
of  atheism,  grand-inquisitors  of  infidelity,  who 
would  burn  Voltaire  at  the  stake  because  he  was 
at  heart  an  inflexible  deist.  So  long  as  such  doc- 
trines remained  the  secret  possession  of  an  intel- 
lectual aristocracy  and  were  discussed  in  a  select 
coterie-dialect  which  was  incomprehensible  to  the 
lackeys  in  attendance  while  we  at  our  philosoph- 
ical petits-soiipcrs  were  blaspheming,  so  long  did 
I  continue  to  be  one  of  the  thoughtless  free- 
thinkers, of  whom  the  majority  resembled  those 
grand-seigneurs  who,  shortly  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, sought  by  means  of  the  new  revolutionary 
ideas  to  dispel  the  tedium  of  their  indolent  court- 


J 


CONFESSIONS.  2  6 1 

life.  But  as  soon  as  I  saw  that  the  rabble  began 
to  discuss  the  same  themes  at  their  unclean  sym- 
posiums, where  instead  of  wax  candles  and  chan- 
deliers gleamed  tallow  dips  and  oil-lamps ;  when  I 
perceived  that  greasy  cobblers  and  tailors  presumed 
in  their  blunt  mechanics'  speech  to  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  God  ;  when  atheism  began  to  smell  strongly 
of  cheese,  brandy,  and  tobacco, — then  my  eyes  were 
suddenly  opened,  and  that  which  I  had  not  com- 
prehended through  reason  I  now  learned  through 
my  olfactory  organs  and  through  my  loathing  and 
disgust.  Heaven  be  praised !  my  atheism  was  at 
an  end.  To  be  candid,  it  was  perhaps  not  alone 
disgust  that  made  the  principles  of  the  godless 
obnoxious  to  me  and  induced  me  to  abandon  their 
ranks.  I  was  oppressed  by  a  certain  worldly  ap- 
prehension which  I  could  not  overcome,  for  I  saw 
that  atheism  had  entered  iiito  a  more  or  less  secret 
compact  with  the  most  terrible,  repulsive,  undis- 
guised, communistic  communism.  My  dread  of 
the  latter  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  terror 
of  the  parvenu,  who  trembles  for  his  wealth,  or 
with  that  of  well-to-do  tradesmen,  who  fear  an  in- 
terruption of  their  profitable  business.  No  :  that 
which  disquiets  me  is  the  secret  dread  of  the  artist 
and  scholar,  who  sees  our  whole  modern  civiliza- 
tion, the  laboriously-achieved  product  of  so  many 
centuries  of  effort,  and  the  fruit  of  the  noblest 
works  of  our  ancestors,  jeopardized  by  the  triumph 
23 


262  CONFESSIONS. 

of  communism.  Swept  along  by  the  resistless 
current  of  generous  emotions,  we  may  perhaps 
sacrifice  the  cause  of  art  and  science,  even  all  our 
own  individual  interests,  for  the  general  welfare  of 
the  suffering  and  oppressed  masses.  But  we  can 
no  longer  disguise  from  ourselves  what  we  have 
to  expect  when  the  great,  rude  masses,  which  by 
some  are  called  the  people,  by  others  the  rabble, 
and  whose  legitimate  sovereignty  was  proclaimed 
long  ago,  shall  obtain  actual  dominion.  The  poet, 
in  particular,  experiences  a  mysterious  dread  in 
contemplating  the  advent  to  power  of  this  uncouth 
sovereign.  We  will  gladly  sacrifice  ourselves  for 
the  people,  for  self-sacrifice  constitutes  one  of  our 
most  exquisite  enjoyments.  The  emancipation  of 
the  masses  has  been  the  great  task  of  our  liv^es  ; 
we  have  toiled  for  it,  and  in  its  cause  endured  in- 
describable misery,  in  the  fatherland  as  well  as  in 
exile.  But  the  poet's  refined  and  sensitive  nature 
revolts  at  every  near  personal  contact  with  the 
masses,  and  still  more  repugnant  is  the  mere 
thought  of  their  caresses,  from  which  may  Heaven 
preserve  us  !  A  great  democrat  once  remarked 
that  if  a  king  had  taken  him  by  the  hand  he  would 
immediately  have  thrust  it  into  the  fire  to  purify  it. 
After  the  same  manner  I  say,  had  the  sovereign 
masses  vouchsafed  to  press  my  hand  I  should 
have  hastened  to  wash  it. 

*  *  *  It  required  no  great  foresight  to  foretell 


CONFESSIOiVS. 


263 


these  terrible  events  so  long  before  their  occur- 
rence. I  could  easily  prophesy  what  songs  would 
one  day  be  whistled  and  chirped  in  Germany,  for  I 
saw  the  birds  hatching  that  in  after-days  gave  tone 
to  the  new  school  of  song.  I  saw  Hegel,  with 
serio-comic  visage,  like  a  setting  hen,  brooding 
over  the  fatal  eggs  ;  and  I  heard  his  cackling.  I 
will  confess  honestly  that  I  seldom  understood 
Hegel,  and  only  through  later  reflection  did  I 
arrive  at  an  understanding  of  his  words.  It  is  my 
conviction  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  understood, 
and  that  he  was  purposely  obscure. 

*  *  *  One  beautiful  starlight  night,  Hegel  stood 
with  me  at  an  open  window.  I,  being  a  young  man 
of  twenty-two,  and  having  just  partaken  of  a  good 
dinner  and  coffee,  naturally  spoke  with  enthusiasm 
of  the  stars,  and  called  them  abodes  of  the  blest. 
But  Hegel  muttered  to  himself,  "The  stars!  Hm ! 
hm  !  the  stars  are  only  a  shining  excrescence  on 
the  firmament."  "What!"  cried  I,  "then  there 
is  no  blissful  spot  above,  where  after  death  virtue 
is  rewarded?"  But  he,  glaring  at  me  with  his 
dim  eyes,  remarked,  sneeringly,  "So  you  want  a 
recompense  because  you  have  supported  your  sick 
mother  and  have  not  poisoned  your  brother?"  At 
these  words  he  looked  anxiously  around,  but  was 
reassured  when  he  saw  no  one  near. 

**"*"!  was  never  an  abstract  thinker,  and  I 
accepted  the  synthesis  of  the  Hegelian  philosophy 


264 


CO.VFESSIOiVS. 


without  examination,  because  its  deductions  flat- 
tered my  vanity.  I  was  younc^  and  arrogant,  and 
it  gratified  my  self-conceit  wlien  I  was  informed  by 
Hegel  that  not,  as  my  grandmother  had  supposed, 
He  who  dwelt  in  the  heavens,  but  I  myself,  here 
on  earth,  was  God.  This  silly  pride  had,  however, 
by  no  means  an  evil  influence  on  me.  On  the 
contrary,  it  awoke  in  me  the  heroic  spirit,  and  at 
that  period  I  practiced  a  generosity  and  self-sacri- 
fice which  completely  cast  into  the  shade  the  most 
virtuous  and  distinguished  deeds  of  those  virtuous 
but  narrow-minded  people  who  did  good  merely 
from  a  sense  of  duty  and  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  morality.  For  surely  I  was  myself  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  moral  law,  and  the  fountain-head  of 
all  right  and  authority.  I  myself  was  morality 
personified,  I  was  sinless,  I  was  purity  incarnate. 
*  *  *  I  was  all  love,  and  incapable  of  hate.  I 
no  longer  revenged  myself  on  my  enemies ;  for, 
rightly  considered,  I  had  no  enemies;  at  least,  I 
recognized  none  as  such.  For  me  there  now  ex- 
isted only  unbelievers  who  questioned  my  divinity. 
Every  indignity  that  they  offered  me  was  a  sacri- 
lege, and  their  contumely  was  blasphemy.  Such 
godlessness,  of  course,  I  could  not  always  let  pass 
unpunished;  but  in  those  cases  it  was  not  human 
revenge,  but  divine  judgment  upon  sinners.  Ab- 
sorbed in  this  exalted  practice  of  justice,  I  would 
repress  with  more  or  less   difficulty  all  ordinary 


CONFESSIONS. 


265 


pity.  As  I  had  no  enemies,  so  also  there  existed 
for  me  no  friends,  but  only  worshipers,  who  be- 
lieved in  my  greatness,  and  adored  me,  and  praised 
my  works,  those  written  in  verse  as  well  as  those 
in  prose.  Towards  this  congregation  of  truly  de- 
vout and  pious  ones  I  was  particularly  gracious, 
especially  towards  the  young-lady  devotees.  But 
the  expense  of  playing  the  role  of  a  God,  for  whom 
it  were  unseemly  to  go  in  tatters,  and  who  is  sparing 
neither  of  body  nor  of  purse,  is  immense.  To  play 
such  a  role  respectably,  two  things  are  above  all 
requisite,  much  money  and  robust  health.  Alas! 
it  happened  that  one  day,  in  February,  1848,  both 
these  essentials  failed  me,  and  my  divinity  was  at 
an  end.  Luckily,  the  highly-respected  public  was 
at  that  time  occupied  with  events  so  dramatic,  so 
grand,  so  fabulous  and  unprecedented,  that  the 
change  in  the  affairs  of  so  unimportant  a  personage 
as  myself  attracted  but  little  attention.  U«nprece- 
dented  and  fabulous  were  indeed  the  events  of 
those  crazy  February  days,  when  the  wisdom  of 
the  wisest  was  brought  to  naught,  and  the  chosen 
ones  of  imbecility  were  raised  aloft  in  triumph. 
The  last  became  the  first,  and  the  lowliest  became 
the  highest.  Matter,  like  thought,  was  turned  upside 
down,  and  the  world  was  topsy-turvy.  If  in  those 
mad  days  I  had  been  sane,  those  events  would 
surely  have  cost  me  my  wits;  but,  lunatic  as  I  then 
was,  the  contrary  necessarily  came  to  pass,  and. 


266  CONFESSIONS. 

strange  to  say,  just  in  the  days  of  universal  madness 
I  regained  my  reason  !     Like  many  other  divinities 
of  that  rcvolu-tionary  period,  I  was  compelled  to 
abdicate  ignominiously,  and  to  return  to  the  lowly 
life  of  humanity.     I  came  back  into  the  humble 
fold  of  God's  creatures.     I  again  bowed  in  homage 
to  the  almighty  power  of  a  Supreme  Being,  who 
directs  the  destinies  of  this  world,  and  who  for  the 
future  shall  also  regulate  my  earthly  affairs.     The 
latter,  during  the  time  I  had  been  my  own  Provi- 
dence, had  drifted  into  sad  confusion,  and  I  was 
glad  to  turn  them  over  to  a  celestial  superintendent, 
who  with   his   omniscience  really  manages  them 
much  better.     The  belief  in  God  has  since  then 
been  to  me  not  only  a  source  of  happiness,  but  it 
has  also  relieved  me  from  all  those  annoying  busi- 
ness cares  which  are  so  distasteful  to  me.     This 
belief  has  also  enabled  me  to  practice  great  econo- 
mies; for  I  need  no  longer  provide  either  for  my- 
self or  for  others,  and  since  I  have  joined  the  ranks 
of  the  pious  I  contribute  almost  nothing  to  the  sup- 
port of  the  poor.     I  am  too  modest  to  meddle  as 
formerly  with  the  business  of  Divine  Providence. 
I  am  no  longer  a  provider  for  the  general  good ;  I 
no  longer  ape  the  Deity;  and  with  pious  humility 
I  have  notified  my  former  dependants  that  I   am 
only  a  miserable  human  being,  a  wretched  creature 
that  has  naught  more  to  do  with  governing  the 
universe,  and  that  in  future  when  in  need  and  afflic- 


CONFESSIONS.  267 

tion  they  must  apply  to  the  Supreme  Ruler,  who 
dwells  in  heaven,  and  whose  budget  is  as  inexhaust- 
ible as  his  goodness, — whereas  I,  a  poor  ex-god, 
was  often  compelled  even  in  the  days  of  my  god- 
hood  to  seek  the  assistance  of  the  devil.  It  was 
certainly  very  humiliating  for  a  god  to  have  to  ap- 
ply to  the  devil  for  aid,  and  I  am  heartily  thankful 
to  be  relieved  from  my  usurped  glory.  No  phi- 
losopher shall  ever  again  persuade  me  that  I  am 
a  god.  I  am  only  a  poor  human  creature,  that  is 
not  overly  well ;  yea,  that  is  even  very  ill.  In  this 
pitiable  condition  it  is  a  true  comfort  to  me  that 
there  is  some  one  in  the  heavens  above  to  whom  I 
can  incessantly  wail  out  the  litany  of  my  suffer- 
ings, especially  after  midnight,  when  my  wife  has 
sought  the  repose  that  she  oft  so  sadly  needs, 
God  be  praised  !  in  such  hours  I  am  not  all  alone, 
and  I  can  freely  pray,  and  weep  without  restraint; 
I  can  pour  out  my  whole  heart  before  the  Almighty, 
and  confide  to  him  some  things  which  one  is  wont 
to  conceal  even  from  his  own  wife. 

*  *  *  After  the  above  confession,  the  kindly- 
disposed  reader  will  easily  understand  why  I  no 
longer  found  pleasure  in  my  work  on  the  Hege- 
lian philosophy.  I  saw  clearly  that  its  publication 
would  benefit  neither  the  public  nor  the  author. 
I  comprehended  that  there  is  more  nourishment 
for  famishing  humanity  in  the  most  watery  and 
insipid  broth  of  Christian  charity  than  in  the  dry 


268  CONFESSIONS. 

and  musty  spider-web  of  the  Hegelian  philosophy. 
I  will  confess  all.  Of  a  sudden  I  was  seized  with 
a  mortal  terror  of  the  eternal  flames.  I  know  it 
is  a  mere  superstition;  but  I  was  frightened.  And 
so,  on  a  quiet  winter's  night,  when  a  glowing  fire 
was  burning  on  my  hearth,  I  availed  myself  of  the 
good  opportunity  and  cast  the  manuscript  of  my 
work  on  the  Plegelian  philosophy  into  the  flames. 
The  burning  leaves  flew  up  the  chimney  with  a 
strange,  hissing  sound. 

Heaven  be  praised !  I  was  rid  of  it !  Alas ! 
would  that  I  could  destroy  in  the  same  manner 
all  that  I  have  ever  published  concerning  German 
philosophy!  But,  as  the  copyright  of  those  books 
has  been  sold,  I  cannot  prevent  their  republication, 
as  I  lately  learned  to  my  great  regret.  No  other 
course  therefore  remains  but  to  confess  publicly 
that  my  dissertation  on  German  Philosophy  con- 
tains the  most  erroneous  and  pernicious  doctrines. 
In  order  to  spare  myself  the  sorrowful  task  of  ex- 
plaining anew  my  change  of  views,  I  shall  here 
transcribe  an  extract  from  a  preface  which  I  wrote 
for  a  recent  German  edition  of  that  work.  It  reads 
as  follows : 

"  I  will  honestly  confess  that  I  would  gladly 
leave  the  whole  book  unpublished  if  I  could  ;  for 
since  its  first  appearance  my  views  concerning 
many  subjects,  especially  those  which  relate  to 
religious    questions,    have    undergone    a    marked 


CONFESSIONS. 


269 


change,  and  much  that  I  then  asserted  is  now  at 
variance  with  my  better  convictions.  But  as  soon 
as  the  arrow  flies  from  the  bow  it  is  no  longer  the 
archer's,  and  the  word  ceases  to  belong  to  the 
speaker  when  once  it  has  passed  his  lips,  especially 
when  it  has  been  multiplied  by  the  press.  More- 
over, others,  who  have  legal  rights  in  the  matter, 
would  effectually  restrain  any  attempt  on  my  part 
to  withdraw  this  book  from  print.  True,  I  might 
tone  down  my  words  and  veil  my  meaning  in  vague 
language,  as  some  authors  do  in  such  cases ;  but 
in  the  very  depths  of  my  soul  I  hate  ambiguous 
phrases,  hypocritical  flowers,  and  cowardly  fig- 
leaves.  Under  all  circumstances,  however,  an  hon- 
est man  retains  the  inalienable  right  candidly  to 
confess  his  errors,  and  that  right  I  shall  now  fear- 
lessly exercise.  I  frankly  confess  that  everything 
in  this  book  that  relates  to  the  great  question  of 
the  Deity  is  both  false  and  ill  considered. 

*****  At  that  time  I  was  still  well  and  hearty; 
I  was  in  the  zenith  of  my  prime,  and  as  arrogant 
as  Nebuchadnezzar  before  his  downfall. 

"Alas!  a  few  years  later  a  physical  and  spiritual 
change  occurred.  How  often  since  then  have  I 
mused  over  the  history  of  that  Babylonian  king 
who  thought  himself  a  god,  but  who  was  misera- 
bly hurled  from  the  summit  of  his  self-conceit  and 
compelled  to  crawl  on  the  earth  like  a  beast  and 
eat  grass  (probably  it  was  only  salad) !  This  legend 


±^0  CONFESSIONS.  J  / 


is  contained  in  the  grand  and  magnificent  book 
of  Daniel;  and  I  recommend  all  godless  self-wor- 
shipers to  lay  it  devoutly  to  heart.  The  Bible 
contains  many  other  beautiful  and  wonderful  nar- 
ratives well  worthy  their  consideration.  Among 
the  number  is  the  story  of  the  forbidden  fruit 
in  the  garden  of  Eden,  and  of  the  serpent,  that 
little  private  lecturer,  which  already  six  thousand 
years  before  Hegel's  birth  enunciated  the  whole 
Hegelian  philosophy.  This  footless  blue-stocking 
demonstrates  very  sagaciously  how  the  absolute 
consists  in  the  identity  of  being  and  knowing, — 
how  man  becomes  God  through  knowledge, — in 
other  words,  how  God  in  man  attains  self-con- 
sciousness. This  formula  is  not  so  clear  as  in  the 
original  words:  'If  ye  eat  of  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
ye  shall  be  as  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil.' 

"  Dame  Eve  understood  of  the  whole  demon- 
stration only  this, — that  the  fruit  was  forbidden; 
and  because  it  was  forbidden  the  good  dame  ate 
thereof  But  no  sooner  had  she  eaten  of  the  tempt- 
ing fruit  than  she  lost  her  innocence,  her  naive 
guilelessness,  and  discovered  that  she  was  far  too 
scantily  dressed  for  a  person  of  her  quality,  the 
mother  of  so  many  future  emperors  and  kings, 
and  she  asked  for  a  dress, — trul\',  only  a  dress  of 
fig-leaves,  because  at  that  time  the  silk-manufac- 
turers of  Lyons  were  not  yet  in  existence,  and 
because  there  were  in  Paradise  no  milliners  and 


CONFESSIONS. 


271 


dressmakers.  Oh,  Paradise  !  Strange  that  as  soon 
as  woman  arrives  at  reasoning  self-consciousness 
her  first  thought  is  of — a  new  dress !" 

How  strange !  during  my  whole  life  I  have  been 
strolling  through  the  various  festive  halls  of  phi- 
losophy, I  have  participated  in  all  the  orgies  of 
the  intellect,  I  have  coquetted  with  each  and  every 
system,  without  finding  content ;  and  now,  after 
all  this,  I  suddenly  find  myself  on  the  same  plat- 
form whereon  stands  Uncle  Tom.  That  platform 
is  the  Bible,  and  I  kneel  by  the  side  of  my  dusky 
brother  in  faith  with  a  devotion  like  to  his.  What 
humiliation  !  With  all  my  learning,  I  have  pene- 
trated no  farther  than  the  poor  ignorant  negro  who 
can  scarcely  spell !  It  is  even  true  that  poor  Uncle 
Tom  appears  to  see  in  the  holy  book  more  pro- 
found things  than  I,  who  am  not  yet  quite  clear  in 
regard  to  the  last  part. 

*  *  *  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  think  I  may  flatter 
myself  that  I  can  better  comprehend  the  character 
of  Moses,  whose  grand  figure  has  impressed  me 
most  profoundly.  What  a  colossal  form  !  I  can- 
not imagine  that  Og,  King  of  Bashan,  could  have 
looked  more  giant-like.  How  insignificant  does 
Sinai  appear  when  Moses  stands  thereon !  The 
mountain  seems  merely  a  pedestal  for  the  feet  of 
him  whose  head  towers  into  the  heavens  and 
there  holds  converse  with  God.  May  Heaven  for- 
give the  sacrilegious  thought!    but  sometimes  it 


272 


CONFESSIONS. 


appears  to  me  as  if  this  Mosaic  God  were  only  the 
reflected  radiance  of  Moses  himself,  whom  he  so 
strongly  resembles  in  wrath  and  in  love.  It  were 
a  sin,  it  were  anthropomorphism,  to  assume  such 
an  identity  of  God  and  his  prophet;  but  the  re- 
semblance is  most  striking. 

Heretofore  I  had  not  particularly  admired  the 
character  of  Moses,  probably  because  the  Hellenic 
spirit  was  predominant  in  me,  and  I  could  not  par- 
don the  law-giver  of  the  Jews  for  his  hate  of  all 
that  constitutes  art.  I  failed  to  perceive  that  Moses, 
notwithstanding  his  enmity  to  art,  was  nevertheless 
himself  a  great  artist  and  possessed  the  true  artistic 
spirit.  Only,  this  artistic  spirit  with  him,  as  with 
his  Egyptian  countrymen,  was  applied  to  the  colos- 
sal and  the  imperishable.  But  not,  like  the  Egyp- 
tians, did  he  construct  his  works  of  art  from  bricks 
and  granite,  but  he  built  human  pyramids  and 
carved  human  obelisks.  He  took  a  poor  shepherd 
tribe  and  from  it  created  a  nation  which  should 
defy  centuries  ;  a  great,  an  immortal,  a  consecrated 
race,  a  God-serving  people,  who  to  all  other  nations 
should  be  as  a  model  and  prototype  :  he  created 
Israel. 

I  have  never  spoken  with  proper  reverence  either 
of  the  artist  or  of  his  work,  the  Jews;  and  for  the 
same  reason, — namely,  my  Hellenic  temperament. 
My  prejudice  in  favor  of  Hellas  has  declined  since 
then.     I  see  now  that  the  Greeks  were  only  beau- 


CONFESSIONS.  2/3 

tiful  youths,  but  that  the  Jews  were  always  men, 
stron^^,  unyielding  men,  not  only  in  the  past,  but 
to  this  very  day,  in  spite  of  eighteen  centuries  of 
persecution  and  suffering.  Since  that  time  I  have 
learned  to  appreciate  them  better  ;  and,  were  not  all 
pride  of  ancestry  a  silly  inconsistency  in  a  cham- 
pion of  the  revolution  and  its  democratic  princi- 
ples, the  writer  of  these  pages  would  be  proud  that 
his  ancestors  belonged  to  the  noble  house  of  Israel, 
that  he  is  a  descendant  of  those  martyrs  who  gave 
the  world  a  God  and  a  system  of  morality,  and  who 
have  fought  and  suffered  on  all  the  battle-fields  of 
thought. 

The  histories  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  even 
those  of  modern  times,  have  seldom  enrolled  on 
their  records  the  names  of  such  knights  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  for  they  generally  fought  with  closed  visors. 
The  deeds  of  the  Jews  are  just  as  little  known  to 
the  world  as  is  their  real  character.  Some  think 
they  know  the  Jews  because  they  can  recognize 
their  beards,  which  is  all  they  have  ever  revealed 
of  themselves.  Now,  as  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
they  remain  a  wandering  mystery,  a  mystery  that 
may  perhaps  be  solved  on  the  day  which  the 
prophet  foretells,  when  there  shall  be  but  one 
shepherd  and  one  flock,  and  the  righteous  who 
have  suffered  for  the  good  of  humanity  shall  then 
receive  a  glorious  reward. 

I,  who  in  the  past  was  wont  to  cite  Homer,  now 
24 


2/4 


COXFESSIOiVS. 


quote  from  the  Bible,  like  Uncle  Tom.  In  truth, 
I  owe  it  much.  It  again  awoke  in  me  the  religious 
feeling  ;  and  this  new  birth  of  religious  emotion 
suffices  for  the  poet,  for  he  far  more  easily  than 
other  mortals  can  dispense  with  positive  religious 
dogmas. 

*  *  *  The  silliest  and  most  contradictory  reports 
are  in  circulation  concerning  me.  Very  pious 
but  not  very  wise  men  of  Protestant  Germany  have 
urgently  inquired  if,  now  that  I  am  ill  and  in  a 
religious  frame  of  mind,  I  cling  with  more  devo- 
tion than  heretofore  to  the  Lutheran  evangelic 
faith,  which  until  now  I  have  only  professed  after 
a  lukewarm,  formal  fashion.  No,  ye  dear  friends, 
in  that  respect  no  change  has  taken  place  in  me, 
and  if  I  continue  to  adhere  to  the  evangelic  faith 
at  all,  it  is  because  now,  as  in  the  past,  that  faith 
does  not  at  all  inconvenience  me.  I  will  frankly 
avow  that  when  I  resided  in  Berlin,  like  several 
of  my  friends,  I  would  have  preferred  to  separate 
myself  from  the  bonds  of  all  denominations,  had 
not  the  rulers  there  refused  a  residence  in  Prussia, 
and  especially  in  Berlin,  to  any  one  who  did  not 
profess  one  of  the  positive  religions  recognized  by 
the  State.  As  Henry  IV.  once  laughingly  said, 
*'  Paris  vaut  bicn  une  messe,"  so  could  I  say,  with 
equal  justice,  Berlin  is  well  worth  a  sermon.  Both 
before  and  after,  I  could  easily  tolerate  the  ration- 
alistic Christianity  which  at  that  time  was  preached 


CONFESSIONS.  275 

in  some  of  the  churches  of  Berh'n.  It  was  a 
Christianity  purged  from  all  superstition,  and  from 
which  even  the  doctrine  of  the  divinity  of  Christ 
had  been  eliminated,  like  mock-turtle  soup  with- 
out turtle.  At  that  time  I  myself  was  still  a  god, 
and  no  one  of  the  positive  religions  had  more 
value  for  me  than  another.  I  could  wear  any  of 
their  uniforms  out  of  courtesy,  after  the  manner  of 
the  Russian  Emperor,  who,  when  he  vouchsafes 
the  King  of  Prussia  the  honor  to  attend  a  review 
at  Potsdam,  appears  uniformed  as  a  Prussian  officer 
of  the  guard. 

Now,  when  my  physical  sufferings  and  the  re- 
awakening of  my  religious  nature  have  effected  in 
me  many  changes,  does  the  uniform  of  Luther- 
anism  in  some  measure  express  my  true  senti- 
ments? How  far  has  the  formal  profession  become 
a  reality?  I  do  not  propose  to  give  direct  answers 
to  these  questions,  but  I  shall  avail  myself  of  the 
opportunity  to  explain  the  services  which,  accord- 
ing to  my  present  views,  Protestantism  has  ren- 
dered to  civilization.  From  this  may  be  inferred 
how  much  more  I  am  now  in  sympathy  with  this 
creed. 

At  an  earlier  period,  when  philosophy  possessed 
for  me  a  paramount  interest,  I  prized  Protestant- 
ism only  for  its  services  in  winning  freedom  of 
thought,  which,  after  all,  is  the  foundation  on  which 
in  later  times   Leibnitz,   Kant,  and   Hegel   could 


276 


CONFESSIONS. 


build.  Luther,  the  strong  man  with  the  ax,  must, 
in  the  very  nature  of  thinj^s,  have  preceded  these 
warriors  to  open  a  path  for  them.  For  this  service 
I  have  honored  the  Reformation  as  being  the  be- 
ginning of  German  philosophy,  which  justified  my 
polemical  defense  of  Protestantism.  Now,  in  my 
later  and  more  mature  days,  when  the  religious 
feeling  surges  so  overpoweringly  in  me, — now,when 
the  shipwrecked  metaphysician  clings  fast  to  the 
Bible, — now  I  chiefly  honor  Protestantism  for  its 
agency  in  rediscovering  and  circulating  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  I  advisedly  use  the  word  rediscover- 
ing; for  the  Jews,  who  had  preserved  the  Bible  from 
the  great  conflagration  of  the  second  temple,  and 
all  through  the  Middle  Ages  carried  it  around 
with  them  like  a  portable  fatherland,  kept  their 
treasure  carefully  concealed  in  their  ghettos.  Here 
came  by  stealth  German  scholars,  the  predecessors 
and  originators  of  the  Reformation,  to  study  the 
Hebrew  language  and  thus  acquire  the  key  to  the 
casket  wherein  the  precious  treasure  was  inclosed. 
Such  a  scholar  was  the  worthy  Reuchlinus ;  and 
his  enemies  the  Hochstraatens  and  consorts  in 
Cologne,  who  are  represented  as  the  party  of  dark- 
ness and  ignorance,  were  by  no  means  such  sim- 
pletons. On  the  contrary,  they  were  far-sighted 
Inquisitors,  who  foresaw  clearly  the  disasters  which 
a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  Holy  Scriptures 
would   bring   on   the   Church.     Hence  the  perse- 


CONFESSION'S.  277 

cuting  zeal  with  which  they  sought  to  destroy  the 
Hebrew  writings,  at  the  same  time  inciting  the 
rabble  to  exterminate  the  Jews,  the  interpreters  of 
those  writings.  Now  that  the  motives  of  their 
actions  are  known,  we  see  that,  properly  consid- 
ered, each  was  in  the  right.  This  reactionary  party 
believed  that  the  spiritual  salvation  of  the  world 
was  endangered,  and  that  all  means,  falsehood  as 
well  as  murder,  were  justifiable,  especially  against 
the  Jews.  The  lower  classes,  pinched  by  poverty, 
and  heirs  of  the  primeval  curse,  were  embittered 
against  the  Jews  because  of  the  wealth  they  had 
amassed  ;  and  what  to-day  is  called  the  hate  of  the 
proletarians  against  the  rich  was  then  called  hate 
of  the  Jews.  In  fact,  as  the  latter  were  excluded 
from  all  ownership  of  land  and  from  every  trade, 
and  relegated  to  dealing  in  money  and  merchan- 
dise, they  were  condemned  by  law  to  be  rich,  hated, 
and  murdered.  Such  murders,  it  is  true,  were  in 
those  days  committed  under  the  mantle  of  religion, 
and  the  cry  was,  "  We  must  kill  those  who  cru- 
cified our  God."  How  strange!  The  very  people 
who  had  given  the  world  a  God,  and  whose  whole 
life  was  redolent  of  the  worship  of  God,  were  stig- 
matized as  deicides  !  The  bloody  parody  of  such 
madness  was  witnessed  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
revolution  in  San  Domingo,  where  a  negro  mob 
devastated  the  plantations  with  murder  and  fire, 
led  by  a  negro  fanatic  who  carried  an  immense 
24* 


278 


CONFESSIONS. 


crucifix,  amid  bloodthirsty  cries   of,  "The  whites 
killed  Christ ;  let  us  slay  all  whites !" 

To  the  Jews  the  world  is  indebted  for  its  God 
and  his  word.  They  rescued  the  Bible  from  the 
bankruptcy  of  the  Roman  empire,  and  preserved 
the  precious  volume  intact  during  all  the  wild 
tumults  and  lawlessness  of  the  transmigration  of 
races  until  Protestantism  came  to  seek  it  and  trans- 
lated it  into  the  language  of  the  land  and  spread 
it  broadcast  over  the  whole  world.  This  extensive 
circulation  of  the  Bible  has  produced  the  most 
beneficent  fruits,  and  continues  to  do  so  to  this 
very  day.  The  prgpaganda  of  the  Bible  Society 
have  fulfilled  a  providential  mission,  which  is  more 
important  and  will  bring  forth  quite  different  re- 
sults from  those  anticipated  by  the  pious  gentle- 
men of  the  British-Christian-Missionary-Society. 
They  expect  to  elevate  a  petty,  narrow  dogma  to 
supremacy,  and  to  monopolize  heaven  as  they  do 
the  sea,  making  it  a  British  church  domain.  And, 
lo  !  without  being  aware  of  what  they  do,  they 
hasten  the  overthrow  of  all  Protestant  sects;  for, 
as  they  all  draw  their  life  from  the  Bible,  when 
the  knowledge  of  the  Bible  becomes  universal,  all 
sectarian  distinctions  will  be  obliterated. 

By  tricks  of  trade,  smuggling,  and  commerce, 
the  British  gain  footholds  in  many  lands.  With 
them  they  bring  the  Bible,  and  by  spreading  the 
knowledge  of  its  truths  they  hasten  the  coming  of 


CONFESSIONS. 


279 


that  grand  democracy  wherein  each  man  shall  not 
only  be  king  in  his  own  house,  but  also  bishop. 
By  teaching  the  right  of  individual  interpretation 
of  God's  word,  they  found  the  empire  of  intellect 
combined  with  religion,  and  inculcate  the  love  of 
humanity,  purity,  and  true  morality.  These  can- 
not be  taught  by  the  dogmatic  formulas  of  creeds, 
but  by  parable  and  example,  such  as  are  contained 
in  that  beautiful,  sacred,  and  instructive  book  for 
young  and  old,  the  Bible. 

To  the  observant  thinker  it  is  a  wonderful  spec- 
tacle to  view  the  countries  where  the  Bible,  since 
the  Reformation,  has  been  exerting  its  elevating 
influence  on  the  inhabitants,  and  has  impressed  on 
them  the  customs,  modes  of  thought,  and  temper- 
aments which  formerly  prevailed  in  Palestine, as  por- 
trayed both  in  the  Old  and  in  the  New  Testament. 
In  the  Scandinavian  and  Anglo-Saxon  sections  of 
Europe  and  America,  among  all  the  Germanic 
races,  and  also  to  a  certain  extent  in  Celtic  coun- 
tries, the  customs  of  Palestine  have  been  repro- 
duced in  so  marked  a  degree  that  we  seem  to  be 
in  the  midst  of  the  ancient  Judean  life.  Take,  for 
example,  the  Scotch  Protestants  :  are  not  they  He- 
brews, whose  names  even  are  biblical,  whose  very 
cant  smacks  of  the  Phariseeism  of  ancient  Jerusa- 
lem, and  whose  religion  is  naught  else  than  a  pork- 
eating  Judaism?  It  is  the  same  in  Denmark  and 
in    certain    provinces  of  North  Germany,  not  to 


2  go  CO  XFESSIONS. 

mention  the  majority  of  the  new  sects  of  the  United 
States,  among  whom  the  Hfe  depicted  in  the  Old 
Testanient  is  pedantically  aped.  In  the  latter, 
that  life  appears  as  if  daguerreotyped:  the  outlines 
are  studiously  correct,  but  all  is  depicted  in  sad, 
sombre  colors ;  the  golden  tints  and  harmonizing 
colors  of  the  promised  land  are  lacking.  But  the 
caricature  will  disappear  sooner  or  later.  The  real, 
the  imperishable,  and  the  true — that  is  to  say,  the 
morality — of  ancient  Judaism  will  in  those  coun- 
tries bloom  forth  just  as  acceptably  to  God  as  in 
the  olden  time  it  blossomed  on  the  banks  of  Jordan 
and  on  the  heights  of  Lebanon.  One  needs  neither 
palm-trees  nor  camels  to  be  virtuous;  and  virtue 
is  better  than  beauty.  The  readiness  with  which 
these  races  have  adopted  the  Judaic  life,  customs, 
and  modes  of  thought  is  perhaps  not  entirely  at- 
tributable to  their  susceptibility  of  culture.  The 
cause  of  this  phenomenon  is  perhaps  to  be  sought 
in  the  character  of  the  Jewish  people,  which  always 
had  a  marked  elective  affinity  with  the  character 
of  the  Germanic,  and  also  to  a  certain  extent  with 
that  of  the  Celtic,  races.  Judea  has  always  seemed 
to  me  like  a  fragment  of  the  Occident  misplaced 
in  the  Orient.  In  fact,  with  its  spiritual  faith,  its 
severe,  chaste,  even  ascetic  customs, — in  short, 
with  its  abstract  inner  life, — this  land  and  its  people 
always  offered  the  most  marked  contrasts  to  the 
population   of   neighboring    countries,  who    were 


CONFESSIONS.  28.1 

wholly  given  up  to  a  degrading,  sensual  worship 
of  nature. 

At  a  time  when  in  the  temples  of  Babylon,  Nin- 
eveh, Sidon,  and  Tyre,  bloody  and  lecherous  rites 
were  celebrated,  at  the  mere  mention  of  which, 
even  now,  we  stand  aghast,  Israel  sat  under  its 
fig-trees,  piously  chanting  the  praises  of  the  in- 
visible God.  If  these  surroundings  be  considered, 
the  early  greatness  of  Israel  must  awaken  the  high- 
est surprise  and  admiration.  Of  Israel's  love  of 
liberty  at  a  time  when  not  only  in  its  immediate 
vicinity  but  also  among  all  the  nations  of  antiquity, 
even  among  the  philosophical  Greeks,  the  practice 
of  slavery  was  justified  and  in  full  sway, —  of  this  I 
will  not  speak,  for  fear  of  compromising  the  Bible 
in  the  eyes  of  the  present  powers  that  be.  No 
socialist  can  be  more  radical  than  was  our  Lord 
and  Saviour.  Even  Moses  was  such  a  socialist; 
although  he,  like  a  practical  man,  attempted  only 
to  reform  existing  usages  concerning  property.  In- 
stead of  striving  to  effect  the  impossible  and  rashly 
decreeing  the  abolition  of  private  property,  he 
sought  to  bring  the  rights  of  property  into  har- 
mony with  the  laws  sanctioned  by  morality  and 
reason.  This  he  accomplished  by  instituting  the 
jubilee,  at  which  period  every  alienated  heritage, 
whick  among  an  agricultural  people  always  con- 
sisted of  land,  would  revert  to  the  original  owner, 
no  matter  in  what  manner  it  had  been  alienated. 


282  COA'FESS/ONS. 

This  institution  offers  the  most  marked  contrast  to 
the  Roman  statute  of  limitations,  by  which  after 
the  expiration  of  a  certain  period  the  actual  holder 
of  an  estate  could  no  longer  be  compelled  to  re- 
store the  estate  to  the  true  owner,  unless  the  latter 
should  be  able  to  show  that  within  the  prescribed 
time  he  had,  with  all  the  prescribed  formalities, 
demanded  restitution.  This  last  condition  opened 
wide  the  door  for  chicanery,  particularly  in  a  state 
where  despotism  and  jurisprudence  were  at  their 
zenith,  and  where  the  unjust  possessor  had  at  com- 
mand all  means  of  intimidation,  especially  against 
the  poor  who  might  be  unable  to  defray  the  cost 
of  litigation.  The  Roman  was  both  soldier  and 
lawyer,  and  that  which  he  conquered  with  the 
strong  arm  he  knew  how  to  defend  by  the  tricks 
of  law.  Only  a  nation  of  robbers  and  casuists 
could  have  invented  the  law  of  prescription,  the 
statute  of  limitations,  and  consecrated  it  in  that 
detestable  book  which  may  be  called  the  bible  of 
the  devil :  I  mean  the  codex  of  Roman  civil  law, 
which,  alas  !  still  holds  sway. 

I  have  often  spoken  of  the  affinity  which  exists 
between  the  Jews  and  the  Germans,  whom  I  once 
designated  as  the  two  pre-eminently  moral  nations. 
While  on  this  subject,  I  desire  to  direct  attention 
to  the  ethical  disapprobation  with  which  the  aiicient 
German  law  stigmatizes  the  statute  of  limitations: 
this  I  consider  a  noteworthy  fact.     To  this  very 


CONFESSIOA'S. 


283 


day  the  Saxon  peasant  uses  the  beautiful  and  touch- 
ing aphorism,  "A  hundred  years  of  wrong  do  not 
make  a  single  year  of  right." 

The  Mosaic  law,  through  the  institution  of  the 
jubilee  year,  protests  still  more  decidedly.  Moses 
did  not  seek  to  abolish  the  right  of  property;  on 
the  contrary,  it  was  his  wish  that  every  one  should 
possess  property,  so  that  no  one  might  be  tempted 
by  poverty  to  become  a  bondsman  and  thus  acquire 
slavish  propensities.  Liberty  was  always  the  great 
emancipator's  leading  thought,  and  it  breathes  and 
glows  in  all  his  statutes  concerning  pauperism. 
Slavery  itself  he  bitterly,  almost  fiercely,  hated; 
but  even  this  barbarous  institution  he  could  not 
entirely  destroy.  It  was  rooted  so  deeply  in  the 
customs  of  that  ancient  time  that  he  was  compelled 
to  confine  his  efforts  to  ameliorating  by  law  the 
condition  of  the  slaves,  rendering  self-purchase  by 
the  bondsman  less  difficult,  and  shortening  the 
period  of  bondage. 

But  if  a  slave  thus  eventually  freed  by  process  of 
law  declined  to  depart  from  the  house  of  bondage, 
then,  according  to  the  command  of  Moses,  the  in- 
corrigibly servile,  worthless  scamp  was  to  be  nailed 
by  the  ear  to  the  gate  of  his  master's  house,  and, 
after  being  thus  publicly  exposed  in  this  disgrace- 
ful manner,  he  was  condemned  to  life-long  slavery. 
Oh,  Moses!  our  teacher,  Rabbi  Moses ^.  exalted 
foe  of  all  slavishness  !     Give  me  hammer  and  nails. 


284 


CONFESSIONS. 


that  I  may  nail  to  the  gate  of  Brandenburg  our 
complacent,  long-eared  slaves  in  liv^eries  of  black- 
red-and-gold. 

I  leave  the  ocean  of  universal  religious,  moral, 
and  historical  reflections,  and  modestly  guide  my 
bark  of  thought  back  again  into  the  quiet  inland 
waters  of  autobiography,  in  which  the  author's 
features  are  so  faithfully  reflected. 

In  the  preceding  pages  I  have  mentioned  how 
Protestant  voices  from  home,  in  the  very  indiscreet 
questions  put  to  me,  have  taken  for  granted  that 
with  the  re-awakening  in  me  of  the  religious  feel- 
ing my  sympathy  for  the  Church  had  also  grown 
stronger.  I  know  not  how  clearly  I  have  shown 
that  I  am  not  particularly  enthusiastic  for  any 
dogma  or  any  creed ;  and  in  this  respect  I  have 
remained  the  same  that  I  always  was.  I  repeat 
this  statement  in  order  to  remove  an  error  in 
regard  to  my  present  views,  into  which  several  of 
my  friends  who  are  zealous  Catholics  have  fallen. 
How  strange  !  at  the  same  time  that  in  Germany 
Protestantism  bestowed  on  me  the  undeserved 
honor  of  crediting  me  with  a  conversion  to  the 
evangelic  faith,  another  report  was  circulating  that 
I  had  gone  over  to  Catholicism.  Some  good  souls 
went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  this  latter  conver- 
sion had  occurred  many  years  ago,  and  they  sup- 
ported this  statement  by  definitely  naming  time 
and  place.     They  even  mentioned  the  exact  date; 


COA'FESSIONS. 


285 


they  designated  by  name  the  church  in  which 
I  had  abjured  the  heresy  of  Protestantism  and 
adopted  the  only  true  and  saving  faith,  that  of  the 
Roman  Cathohc  ApostoHc  Church.  The  only 
detail  that  was  lacking  was  how  many  peals  of  the 
bell  had  been  sounded  at  this  ceremony. 

From  the  newspapers  and  letters  that  reach  me 
I  learn  how  widely  this  report  has  won  credence; 
and  I  fall  into  a  painful  embarrassment  when  I 
think  of  the  sincere,  loving  joy  which  is  so  touch- 
ingly  expressed  in  some  of  these  epistles.  Trav- 
elers tell  me  that  the  salvation  of  my  soul  has  even 
furnished  a  theme  for  pulpit  eloquence.  Young 
Catholic  priests  seek  permission  to  dedicate  to  me 
the  first-fruits  of  their  pen.  I  am  regarded  as  a 
shining  light — that  is  to  be — of  the  Church.  This 
pious  folly  is  so  well  meant  and  sincere  that  I  can- 
not laugh  at  it.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the 
zealots  of  Catholicism,  one  thing  is  certain  :  they 
are  no  egotists  ;  they  take  a  warm  interest  in  their 
fellow-men, — alas  !  often  a  little  too  warm  an  in- 
terest. I  cannot  ascribe  that  false  report  to  malice, 
but  only  to  mistake.  The  innocent  facts  were  in 
this  case  surely  distorted  by  accident  only.  The 
statement  of  time  and  place  is  quite  correct.  I 
was  really  in  the  designated  church  on  the  desig- 
nated day,  and  I  did  there  undergo  a  religious 
ceremony;  but  this  ceremony  was  no  hateful  abju- 
ration, but  a  very  innocent  conjugation.     In  short, 


286  CONFESSIONS. 

after  being  married  according  to  the  civil  law,  I 
also  invoked  the  sanction  of  the  Church,  because 
my  wife,  who  is  a  strict  Catholic,  would  not  have 
considered  herself  properly  married  in  the  eyes  of 
God  without  such  a  ceremony;  and  for  no  con- 
sideration would  I  shake  this  dear  being's  belief 
in  the  religion  which  she  has  inherited. 

As  a  general  rule,  it  is  well  that  women  should 
be  religious.  Whether  there  is  more  fidelity  among 
wives  of  the  evangelic  faith,  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  discuss.  But  the  Catholicism  of  the  wife  cer- 
tainly saves  the  husband  from  many  annoyances. 
When  Catholic  women  have  committed  a  fault, 
they  do  not  secretly  brood  over  it,  but  confess  to 
the  priest,  and  as  soon  as  they  have  received  abso- 
lution they  are  again  as  merry  and  light-hearted 
as  before.  This  is  much  pleasanter  than  spoiling 
the  husband's  good  spirits  or  his  soup  by  down- 
cast looks  or  grieving  over  a  sin  for  which  they 
hold  themselves  in  duty  bound  to  atone  during 
their  whole  lives  by  shrewish  prudery.  The  con- 
fessional is  likewise  useful  in  another  respect.  The 
sinner  does  not  keep  her  terrible  secret  preying  on 
her  mind;  and  since  women  are  sure,  sooner  or 
later,  to  babble  all  they  know,  it  is  better  that  they 
should  confide  certain  matters  to  their  confessor 
than  that  they  should,  in  some  moment  of  over- 
powering tenderness,  talkativeness,  or  remorse, 
blurt  out  to  the  poor  husband  the  fatal  confession. 


CONFESSIONS. 


287 


Skepticism  is  certainly  dangerous  in  the  married 
state,  and,  although  I  myself  was  a  free-thinker,  I 
permitted  no  word  derogatory  to  religion  to  be 
spoken  in  my  house.  In  the  midst  of  Paris  I  lived 
like  a  steady,  commonplace  townsman;  and  there- 
fore when  I  married  I  desired  to  be  wedded  under 
the  sanction  of  the  Church,  although  in  this  coun- 
try the  civil  marriage  is  fully  recognized  by  so- 
ciety. My  free-thinking  friends  were  vexed  at  me 
for  this,  and  overwhelmed  me  with  reproaches, 
claiming  that  I  had  made  too  great  concessions  to 
the  clergy.  Their  chagrin  at  my  weakness  would 
have  been  still  greater  had  they  known  the  other 
concessions  that  I  had  made  to  the  hated  priest- 
hood. As  I  was  a  Protestant  wedding  a  Catholic, 
in  order  to  have  the  ceremony  performed  by  a 
Catholic  priest  it  was  necessary  to  obtain  a  special 
dispensation  from  the  archbishop,  who  in  these 
cases  exacts  from  the  husband  a  written  pledge 
that  the  offspring  of  the  marriage  shall  be  educated 
in  the  religion  of  the  mother. 

*  *  *  I  will  crown  my  confessions  by  admitting 
that,  if  at  that  time  it  had  been  necessary  in  order 
to  obtain  the  dispensation  of  the  archbishop,  I 
would  have  bound  over  not  only  the  children  but 
myself.  But  the  ogre  of  Rome,  who,  like  the  mon- 
ster in  the  fairy-tales,  stipulates  that  he  shall  have 
for  his  services  the  future  births,  was  content  with 
the  poor  children  who  were  never  born.     And  so 


288  CONFESSIOiYS. 

I  remained  a  Protestant,  as  before, — a  protesting 
Protestant;  and  I  protest  against  such  reports, 
which,  without  being  intended  to  be  defamatory, 
may  yet  be  magnified  so  as  to  injure  my  good 
name. 

*  *  *  There  is  not  a  particle  of  unkindly  feel- 
ing in  my  breast  against  the  poor  ogre  of  Rome. 
I  have  long  since  abandoned  all  feuds  with  Cathol- 
icism, and  the  sword  which  I  once  drew  in  the 
service  of  an  idea,  and  not  from  private  grudge, 
has  long  rested  in  its  scabbard.  In  that  contest  I 
resembled  a  soldier  of  fortune,  who  fights  bravely, 
but  after  the  battle  bears  no  malice  either  against 
the  defeated  cause  or  against  its  champions. 

Fanatical  enmity  towards  the  Catholic  Church 
cannot  be  charged  against  me,  for  in  me  there  was 
always  lacking  the  self-conceit  which  is  necessary 
to  sustain  such  an  animosity.  I  know  too  well  my 
own  intellectual  calibre  not  to  be  aware  that  with 
my  most  furious  onslaughts  I  could  inflict  but  little 
injury  on  a  colossus  such  as  the  Church  of  St. 
Peter.  I  could  only  be  a  humble  worker  at  the 
slow  removal  of  its  foundation-stones,  a  task  which 
may  yet  require  centuries.  I  was  too  familiar  with 
history  not  to  have  recognized  the  gigantic  nature 
of  that  granite  structure.  Call  it,  if  you  will,  the 
bastille  of  intellect;  assert,  if  you  choose,  that  it  is 
now  defended  only  by  invalids ;  but  it  is  therefore 
not  the  less  true  that  the  bastille  is  not  to  be  easily 


CONFESSIOArs. 


289 


captured,  and  many  a  young  recruit  will  break  his 
head  against  its  walls. 

As  a  thinker  and  as  a  metaphysician,  I  was 
always  forced  to  pay  the  homage  of  my  admiration 
to  the  logical  consistency  of  the  doctrines  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  I  may  also  'take 
credit  to  myself  that  I  have  never  by  witticism  or 
ridicule  attacked  its  dogmas  or  its  public  worship. 
Too  much  and  too  little  honor  has  been  vouch- 
safed me  in  calling  me  an  intellectual  kinsman  of 
Voltaire.  I  was  always  a  poet;  and  hence  the 
poesy  which  blossoms  and  glows  in  the  symbolism 
of  Catholic  dogma  and  culture  must  have  revealed 
itself  more  profoundly  to  me  than  to  ordinary  ob- 
servers, and  in  my  youthful  days  I  was  often 
touched  by  the  infinite  sweetness,  the  mysterious, 
blissful  ecstasy  and  awe-inspiring  grandeur  of  that 
poetry.  There  was  a  time  when  I  went  into  rap- 
tures over  the  blessed  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  in 
dainty  verse  told  the  story  of  her  grace  and  good- 
ness. My  first  collection  of  poems  shows  traces 
of  this  beautiful  Madonna  period,  which  in  later 
editions  I  weeded  out  with  laughable  anxiety. 

The  time  for  vanity  has  passed,  and  every  one 
is  at  liberty  to  smile  at  this  confession. 

It  will  be  unnecessary  for  me  to  say  that,  as  no 

blind  hate  against  the  Catholic  Church  exists  in 

me,  so  also  no  petty  spite  against  its  priests  rankles 

in  my  heart.     Whoever  knows  my  satirical  vein 

25* 


290 


CONFESSIONS. 


will  surely  bear  witness  that  I  was  always  lenient 
and  forbearing  in  speaking  of  the  human  weak- 
nesses of  the  clergy,  although  by  their  attacks  they 
often  provoked  in  me  a  spirit  of  retaliation.  But 
even  at  the  height  of  my  wrath  I  was  always 
respectful  to  the  true  priesthood  ;  for,  looking 
back  into  the  past,  I  remembered  the  benefits 
which  they  had  once  rendered  me;  for  it  is  Cath- 
olic priests  W'hom  I  must  thank  for  my  first  in- 
struction ;  it  was  they  who  guided  the  first  steps 
of  my  intellect. 

Pedagogy  was  the  speciality  of  the  Jesuits,  and 
although  they  sought  to  pursue  it  in  the  interest 
of  their  order,  yet  sometimes  the  passion  for  peda- 
gogy itself,  the  only  human  passion  that  was  left 
in  them,  gained  the  mastery ;  they  forgot  their 
aim,  the  repression  of  reason  and  the  exaltation  of 
faith,  and,  instead  of  reducing  men  to  a  state  of 
childhood,  as  was  their  purpose,  out  of  the  children 
they  involuntarily  made  men  by  their  instruction. 
The  greatest  men  of  the  Revolution  were  educated 
in  Jesuit  schools.  Without  the  training  there 
acquired,  that  great  intellectual  agitation  would 
perhaps  not  have  broken  out  until  a  century 
later. 

Poor  Jesuit  fathers !  Ye  have  been  the  bugbear 
and  the  scapegoat  of  the  liberals.  The  danger 
that  was  in  you  was  understood,  but  not  your 
merits.     I  could  never  join  in  the  denunciations 


CONFESSIONS.  2  9 1 

of  my  comrades,  who  at  the  mere  mention  of  Loy- 
ola's name  would  always  become  furious,  like  bulls 
when  a  red  cloth  is  held  before  them.  It  is  cer- 
tainly noteworthy,  and  may  perhaps  at  the  assizes 
in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  be  set  down  as  an  ex- 
tenuating circumstance,  that  even  as  a  lad  I  was 
permitted  to  attend  lectures  on  philosophy.  This 
unusual  favor  was  exceptional  in  my  case,  because 
the  rector  Schallmeyer  was  a  particular  friend  of 
our  family.  This  venerable  man  often  consulted 
with  my  mother  in  regard  to  my  education  and 
future  career,  and  once  advised  her,  as  she  after- 
wards related  to  me,  to  devote  me  to  the  service 
of  the  Catholic  Church  and  send  me  to  Rome  to 
study  theology.  He  assured  her  that  through  his 
influential  friends  in  Rome  he  could  advance  me  to 
an  important  position  in  tlie  Church.  But  at  that 
time  my  mother  dreamed  of  the  highest  worldly 
honors  for  me.  Moreover,  she  was  a  disciple  of 
Rousseau,  and  a  strict  deist.  Besides,  she  did  not 
like  the  thought  of  her  son  being  robed  in  one  of 
those  long  black  cassocks,  such  as  are  worn  by 
German  priests,  and  in  which  they  look  so  plump 
and  awkward.  She  knew  not  how  differently,  how 
gracefully,  a  Roman  abbate  wears  such  a  cassock, 
and  how  jauntily  he  flings  over  his  shoulders  the 
black  silk  mantle,  which  in  Rome,  the  ever-beauti- 
ful, is  the  uniform  of  gallantry  and  wit. 

Oh,  what  a  happy  mortal  is  such  a  Roman  ab- 


2Q2  CONFESSIONS. 

bate !  He  serves  not  only  the  Church  of  Christ, 
but  also  Apollo  and  the  Muses,  whose  favorite  he 
is.  The  Graces  hold  his  inkstand  for  him  when 
he  indites  the  sonnets  which,  with  such  delicate 
.cadences,  he  reads  in  the  Accademia  degli  Arcadi. 
He  is  a  connoisseur  of  art,  and  needs  only  to 
taste  the  lips  of  a  young  songstress  in  order  to 
be  able  to  foretell  whether  she  will  some  day  be  a 
celeberrima  cantatrice,  a  diva,  a  world-renowned 
prima  donna.  He  understands  antiquities,  and  will 
write  a  treatise  in  the  choicest  Ciceronian  Latin 
concerning  some  newly-unearthed  torso  of  a  Gre- 
cian Bacchante,  reverentially  dedicating  it  to  the 
supreme  head  of  Christendom,  to  the  Pontifex 
Maximus,  for  so  he  addresses  him.  And  what  a 
judge  of  painting  is  the  Signor  Abbate,  who  visits 
the  painters  in  their  ateliers  and  directs  their  atten- 
tion to  the  fine  points  of  their  female  models ! 
The  writer  of  these  pages  had  in  him  just  the 
material  for  such  an  abbate,  and  was  just  suited 
for  strolling  in  delightful  dolcc  far  nicntc  through 
the  libraries,  art-galleries,  churches,  and  ruins  of 
the  Eternal  City,  studying  among  pleasures,  and 
seeking  pleasures  while  studying.  I  would  have 
read  mass  before  the  most  select  audiences,  and 
during  Holy  Week  I  would  have  mounted  the 
pulpit  as  a  preacher  of  strict  morality, — of  course 
even  then  never  degenerating  into  ascetic  rudeness. 
The  Roman  ladies,  in  particular,  would  have  been 


CONFESSIONS. 


293 


greatly  edified  by  me,  and  through  their  favor  and 
my  own  merit  I  would,  perhaps,  have  eventually 
risen  to  high  rank  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  Church. 
I  would,  perhaps,  have  become  a  monsignore,  a 
violet-stocking ;  perhaps  even  a  cardinal's  red  hat 
might  have  fallen  on  my  head.     The  proverb  says : 

"  There  is  no  priestling,  how  small  soe'er  he  be, 
That  does  not  wish  himself  a  Pope  to  be." 

And  so  it  might  have  come  to  pass  that  I  should 
attain  the  most  exalted  position  of  all,  for,  although 
I  am  not  naturally  ambitious,  I  would  yet  not  have 
refused  the  nomination  for  Pope,  had  the  choice  of 
the  conclave  fallen  on  me.  It  is,  at  all  events,  a 
very  respectable  office,  and  has  a  good  income 
attached  to  it;  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  I  could 
have  discharged  the  duties  of  my  position  with 
the  requisite  address.  I  would  have  seated  myself 
composedly  on  the  throne  of  St.  Peter,  presenting 
my  toe  for  the  kisses  of  all  good  Christians,  the 
priests  as  well  as  the  laity.  With  a  becoming  dig- 
nity I  would  have  let  myself  be  carried  in  triumph 
through  the  pillared  halls  of  the  great  basilica,  and 
only  when  it  tottered  very  threateningly  would  I 
have  clung  to  the  arms  of  the  golden  throne,  which 
is  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  six  stalwart  camerieri 
in  crimson  uniform.  By  their  side  walk  bald- 
headed  monks  of  the  Capuchin  order,  carrying 
burning  torches.      Then   follow   lackeys  in   gala- 


294 


CO.VFESSIONS. 


dress,  bearinf^  aloft  immense  fans  made  of  pea- 
cocks' feathers,  with  which  they  gently  fan  the 
Prince  of  the  Church.  It  is  all  just  like  Horace 
Vernet's  beautiful  painting  of  such  a  procession. 
With  a  like  imperturbable  sacerdotal  gravity — for 
I  can  be  very  serious  if  it  be  absolutely  necessary 
— from  the  lofty  Lateran  I  would  have  pronounced 
the  annual  benediction  over  all  Christendom.  Here, 
standing  on  the  balcony,  arrayed  in  the  pontifical- 
ibus  and  with  the  triple  crown  upon  my  head, 
surrounded  by  my  scarlet-hatted  cardinals  and 
mitred  bishops,  priests  in  suits  of  gold  brocade, 
and  monks  of  every  hue,  I  would  have  presented 
my  holiness  to  the  view  of  the  swarming  multi- 
tudes below,  who,  kneeling  and  with  bowed  heads, 
extended  farther  than  the  eye  could  reach  ;  and  I 
would  composedly  have  stretched  out  my  hands 
and  blessed  the  city  and  the  world. 

But,  as  thou  well  knowest,  gentle  reader,  I  have 
not  become  a  Pope,  nor  a  cardinal,  nor  even  a  papal 
nuncio.  In  the  spiritual  as  well  as  in  the  worldly 
hierarchy  I  have  attained  neither  office  nor  rank ; 
I  have,  as  people  say,  accomplished  nothing  in 
this  beautiful  world;  nothing  has  become  of  me, 
— nothing  but  a  poet. 

But  no,  I  will  not  feign  a  hypocritical  humility, 
I  will  not  depreciate  that  name.  It  is  much  to  be 
a  poet,  especially  to  be  a  great  lyric  poet,  in  Ger- 
many, among  a  people  who  in  two  things — in  phi- 


CONFESSIONS. 


295 


losophy  and  in  poetry — have  surpassed  all  other 
nations.  I  will  not  with  a  sham  modesty — the 
invention  of  worthless  vagabonds — depreciate  my 
fame  as  a  poet.  None  of  my  countrymen  have 
won  the  laurel  at  so  early  an  age;  and  if  my  col- 
league, Wolfgang  Goethe,  complacently  writes  that 
'*  the  Chinese  with  trembling  hand  paints  Werther 
and  Lotte  on  porcelain,"  I  can,  if  boasting  is  to 
be  in  order,  match  his  Chinese  fame  with  one  still 
more  fabulous,  for  I  have  recently  learned  that 
my  poems  have  been  translated  into  the  Japanese 
language. 

But  at  this  moment  I  am  as  indifferent  to  my 
Japanese  fame  as  to  my  renown  in  Finland.  Alas! 
fame,  once  sweet  as  sugared  pine-apple  and  flattery, 
has  for  a  long  time  been  nauseous  to  me ;  it  tastes 
as  bitter  to  me  now  as  wormwood.  With  Romeo, 
I  can  say,  "  I  am  the  fool  of  fortune."  The  bowl 
stands  filled  before  me,  but  I  lack  a  spoon.  What 
does  it  avail  me  that  at  banquets  my  health  is 
pledged  in  the  choicest  wines,  drunk  from  golden 
goblets,  if  at  the  same  time  I,  with  all  that  makes 
life  pleasant  denied  to  me,  may  only  wet  my  lips 
with  an  insipid,  disagreeable,  medicinal  drink  ? 
What  benefit  is  it  to  me  that  enthusiastic  youths 
and  maidens  crown  my  marble  bust  with  laurel- 
wreaths,  if  meanwhile  the  shriveled  fingers  of  an 
aged  hired  nurse  press  a  blister  of  Spanish  flies  to 
the  back  of  my  head?    What  does  it  avail  me  that 


296 


CONFESSIOA'S. 


all  the  roses  of  Sharon  tenderly  glow  and  bloom 
for  me?  Alas!  Sharon  is  two  thousand  miles 
away  from  the  Rue  d'Amsterdam,  where  I  in  the 
dreary  solitude  of  my  sick-room  have  nothing  to 
smell,  unless  it  be  the  perfume  of  warmed-over 
poultices. 

Alas  !  the  irony  of  Heaven  weighs  heavily 
upon  me  !  The  great  Author  of  the  universe,  the 
celestial  Aristophanes,  wished  to  show  the  petty, 
earthly,  so-called  German  Aristophanes  how  his 
most  trenchant  satires  are  only  clumsy  patch- 
work compared  with  His,  and  how  immeasurably 
he  excels  me  in  humor  and  in  colossal  wit. 

Verily  the  mockery  which  the  Master  has  poured 
out  over  me  is  terrible,  and  horribly  cruel  is  his 
sport.  Humbly  do  I  acknowledge  his  superiority, 
and  I  prostrate  myself  in  the  dust  before  him.  But, 
although  I  lack  such  supreme  creative  powers, 
yet  in  me  also  the  eternal  flame  of  reason  burns 
brightly,  and  I  may  summon  even  the  wit  of  God 
before  its  forum  and  subject  it  to  a  respectful  criti- 
cism. And  here  I  venture  to  offer  most  submis- 
sively the  suggestion  that  methinks  the  sport 
which  the  Master  has  inflicted  on  the  poor  pupil 
is  rather  too  long  drawn  out :  it  has  already  lasted 
over  six  years,  which  after  a  time  becomes  monot- 
onous. Moreover,  if  I  may  take  the  liberty  to  say 
it,  in  my  humble  opinion  the  jest  is  not  new,  and 
the  great  Aristophanes  of  heaven  has  already  used 


CONFESSIONS. 


297 


it  on  a  former  occasion,  and  has  therefore  been 
guilty  of  plagiarism  on  his  own  exalted  self  In 
order  to  prove  this  assertion,  I  will  quote  a  passage 
from  the  Chronicle  of  Liineburg.  This  chronicle 
is  very  interesting  for  those  who  seek  information 
concerning  the  manners  and  customs  in  Germany 
during  the  Middle  Ages.  As  in  a  fashion-journal, 
it  describes  the  wearing-apparel  of  both  sexes 
which  was  in  vogue  at  each  particular  period.  It 
also  imparts  information  concerning  the  popular 
ballads  of  the  day,  and  even  quotes  the  opening 
lines  of  several  of  them.  Among  others,  it  records 
that  during  the  year  1480  there  were  whistled  and 
sung  throughout  all  Germany  certain  songs,  which 
for  sweetness  and  tenderness  surpassed  any  pre- 
viously known  in  German  realms.  Young  and  old, 
and  the  women  in  particular,  were  quite  bewitched 
by  these  ballads,  which  might  be  heard  the  livelong 
day.  But  these  songs,  so  the  chronicle  goes  on  to 
say,  were  composed  by  a  young  priest  who  was  af- 
flicted with  leprosy  and  lived  a  forlorn,  solitary  life, 
secluded  from  all  the  world. 

You  are  surely  aware,  gentle  reader,  what  a  hor- 
rible disease  leprosy  was  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  how  the  wretched  beings  afflicted  with  this  in- 
curable malady  were  driven  out  from  all  society 
and  from  the  abodes  of  men,  and  were  forbidden 
to  approach  any  human  being.  Living  corpses, 
they  wandered  to  and  fro,  muffled  from  head  to 

26 


298 


CONFESSIONS. 


foot,  a  hood  drawn  over  the  face,  and  carr}'ing  in 
the  hand  a  bell,  the  Lazarus-bell,  as  it  was  called, 
through  which  they  were  to  give  timely  warning 
of  their  approach,  so  that  every  one  could  avoid 
their  path.  The  poor  priest  whose  fame  as  a  lyric 
poet  the  chronicle  praised  so  highly  was  such  a 
leper;  and  while  all  Germany,  shouting  and  jubi- 
lant, sang  and  whistled  his  songs,  he,  a  wretched 
outcast,  in  the  desolation  of  his  misery  sat  sorrowful 
and  alone. 

Oh,  that  fame  was  the  old,  familiar  mockery  of 
Heaven,  the  cruel  jest  of  God,  the  same  as  in  my 
case,  although  there  it  appears  in  the  romantic 
garb  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  wise  King  of 
Judea  said  rightly,  there  is  nothing  new  under  the 
sun.  Perhaps  that  sun  itself,  which  now  beams  so 
imposingly,  is  only  an  old  warmed-over  jest. 

Sometimes  among  the  gloomy  phantasms  that 
visit  me  at  night  I  seem  to  see  before  me  the  poor 
priest  of  the  Luncburg  Chronicle,  my  brother  in 
Apollo,  and  his  eyes,  telling  their  sorrowful. tale  of 
suffering,  stare  strangely  from  out  his  Capuchin 
hood ;  but  almost  at  the  same  moment  it  van- 
ishes, and,  faintly  dying  away,  like  the  echo  of  a 
dream,  I  hear  the  jarring  tones  of  the  Lazarus- 
bell. 


I 


INDEX. 


Action,  men  of,  145. 
Actors  and  acting,  85,  203,  204. 
^schylus,  81. 
Angelo,  Michael,  81,  166. 
Apollo,  218. 
Architecture,  117,  164. 
Aristocrats,  176,  260. 
Aristophanes,  126,  296. 
Art,  56-82,  135,  156-205,  272. 
Atheists  and  atheism,  34,  93,  260. 
Authorship,  21,  36,  168,  195,  206, 
272. 

B. 

Bacchus,  162,  219. 

Berlin,  18,  200,  275. 

Berlioz,  36,  123. 

Bible,  the,  33,  50,  107,  132,  143, 

271,  274,  276. 
Birch-Pfeifer,  Madame,  203. 
Bohain,  Victor,  257. 
Borrowing,  13. 
Brocken,  the,  122. 
Burger's  Lenore,  62. 
Burns,  41. 
Byron,  19,  41. 


Calderon,  170. 
Campe,  Julius,  206, 
Cathedrals,  117,  125,  164. 
Catholicism,  57,  62,  80,  110-165, 

285,  288.     (See  also  Philosophy 

and  Religion.) 


Censor,  the,  21,  132. 

Cervantes.  127,  202. 

Charles  the  First,  74. 

Charon,  228. 

Christianity,  47,  99,  110-155,  158, 

194,  275.     (See  also  Philosophy 

and  Religion.) 
Communism,  261. 
Copyright,  247. 
Conde,  arrest  of.  65. 
Convictions,  change  of,   33,    106, 

269. 
Criticism,  77;  self-criticism,  248. 
Cromwell,  74. 
Crusades,  the,  62. 


Daniel,  Book  of,  107. 

Dante,  81,  161. 

Death,  64,  75,  98,  185. 

Death-bed  conversions,  33. 

Decamps,  57. 

Deism  and  the  Deity,  93, 102, 137, 
144,  266-299.  (See  also  Phi- 
losophy and  Religion.) 

Delacroix,  57,  67, 

Delaroche,  57,  73. 

Desmouhns,  Camille,  66. 

Diana,  120. 

Don  Quixote,  15,  38,  202. 

Dreams,  98,  99. 


Eating,  84,  loi. 
Egypt,  273. 


299 


300 


INDEX. 


England  and  the  English,  235, 279. 
Ense,  Varnhagen  von,  19. 
Erasmus,  129. 

F. 
Fame,  295. 

Fanaticism,  34,  260,  278. 
Faust  (Ary  vScheffer's),  58, 
Fichte,  94,  149. 
Folk-songs,  187. 
Fontenelle,  145. 

Fouque,  Baron  de  la  Motte,  199. 
France  and  the  French,   54,  57, 

no,  121,  126,  144,  146,  152,  158, 

167,  190. 

G. 

Germany  and   the  Germans,  53, 

61,  110-212,  246,  255,  259,  279, 

283. 
Ghosts  and  spectres,  118.  122. 132, 

146,  190.     (See  also  Mythology 

and  Witchcraft.) 
Gnostics,  the,  113,  120,  130. 
Goethe.   19,  49,  60,  80,  149,  157, 

174.  295. 
Gottingen,  18. 
Greece  and  the  Greeks,  81,  134, 

165,  272. 
Gretchen  (Ary  Scheffer's),  58. 
Gulliver's  Travels,  i^. 


H. 

Hahn-Hahn,  Countess,  250. 

Hamburg,  16,  83. 

Harz-Reise,  25. 

Hegel,  34,  107,  208,  263,  268,  270, 

276. 
Heine,  Solomon,  16,  17,  26. 
Hcnrv  IV.,  275. 
Herder.  168. 
History,  77,  180. 
I  lochstraatcns,  the,  277. 
Hohenstauffen,  Elise  von,  19. 
Holland  and  the  Dutch,  90,  101, 

230.  234. 
Homer,  134,  162,  183. 


I. 


Ideas,  51,  112,  144,  194, 
Ingratitude,  190. 
Irving,  Washington,  25. 
Italv  and  the  Italians,  56,  loi,  163, 
166. 

J. 

Jansenism,  126. 

Jealousy,  loi. 

Jean  Paul.     (See  Richter.) 

Jesuits,  the,  12,  126.  290. 

Jews,  the,  16,  25,  43,  84,  95,  99, 

132,  137,  160.  272.  276,  283. 
Judith  and  Holofernes,  Vernet's, 

63. 
Jupiter,  150,  184,  237, 

K. 

Kant,  Imnianuel,  143,  276. 
I  Kepler,  208. 
I  Kerner,  Justinus,  209. 
'  Klopstock,  255. 

Klotz,  255. 


Latin,  13. 

Leibnitz,  276. 

Lenau,  211. 

Lenore,  Scheffer's,  61 ;  Burger's, 

62. 
Leo  X.,  124,  165. 
Lessing,  139,  167. 
Lessore,  57. 
Leyden.  90. 
Liberty,  55,  76,  283. 
Liberty,  goddess  of,  69. 
Literature,  history  of,  168,  193. 
Louis  XVI..  75. 
Ludovico,  166. 

Ludwig,  King  of  Bavaria,  211, 
Luther,  123,  127,  276. 


M. 

Madonna,  the,  112,  162,  163, 
Magic  Horn,  The,  184. 


290. 


I 


INDEX. 


301 


Manicheans,  the,  113. 

Mars,  218. 

Massmann,  36, 

Melanchthon,  129. 

Mendelssohn,  Moses,  138. 

Menzel,  79,  212. 

Mercury,  234. 

Merlin,  32. 

Methodists,  the,  126, 

Middle   Ages,    the,    62,   110-155, 

160,  170,  202. 
Millennium,  the.  115. 
Missionary  Society,   the   British, 

278. 
Mnemonics,  15,  96, 
Moliere,  126. 
Moses,  272,  281,  283. 
Murat,  209. 
Mythology,  14,  119,  134,  155,  181, 

216-244. 


N. 


Napoleon,  15,  25,75, 171. 184,  250. 
Nature,  117. 
Nebuchadnezzar,  107. 
Neptune,  235. 
Niebuhr,  13. 
North  Sea,  the,  52. 


O. 

Ocean,  the,  55. 
Odyssey,  the,  162. 
Old  Age,  87,  89. 


P. 


Painting  and  Painters,  56-82,  166. 
Pantheism,  35,  120,  137,  149,  179. 
Paris  and  the  Parisians,  29,  67,  71, 

191.  253- 
Patriotism,  54. 

Paul,  Emperor  of  Russia,  183. 
Perier,  Casimir,  71. 
Pfizer,  Gustav,  213. 
Phidias,  81.  150. 
Philosophy,  German,  93, 110-155, 

259,  276. 


Physicians,  37,  84. 

Pietists,  51,  126,  150,  177. 

Pluto,  235. 

Pope  and  the  Papacy,  the,  64, 136, 

293-. 
Posterity,  115. 
Printing,  85,  iii. 
Protestantism,    85,    110-155,   165, 

274,  276,  284. 


R. 
Rahel,  19. 
Raphael,  161. 
Raupach,  203. 
Reason,  'jj ,  267,  296. 
Reformation,  the.     (See  Protest- 

antistn  and  Luther.) 
Religion,  24,  33, 110-155, 171, 196, 

266. 
Religious  prejudice,  23. 
Remigius,  Dr.  Nicolai,  123. 
Reputation,  63. 
Reuchlinus,  277. 

Revolution,  French,  of  1789,  66, 
III. 
French,  of  1830,  28, 

68. 
French,  of  1848,  265. 
German,  133,  152. 
Revolutions,  66. 
Rhine,  the,  44,  254. 
Richelieu,  Delaroche's,  73. 
Richter,  Jean  Paul,  195. 
Robert,  L.,  57,  71. 
Robespierre,  Maximilian,  145, 147, 

148. 
Romano,  Giulio,  166. 
Romanticism,  149,  156-205,  247. 
Rome  and  the  Romans,  13,  114, 

159,  282,  292. 
Rousseau,  138,  145,  248. 


St.  Denis,  254. 
Schallmever,  12,  291. 
Scheffer,  Ary,  58." 
Schelling,  207. 
Schiller,  60,  178,  182,  207,  251. 


302 


INDEX. 


Schlegel,  A.  W.,  157,  i6g,  173. 
Schlegel,  Frederic,  169,  173. 
Schnetz,  57. 
Scliool-days.  13. 
Schwab.  Gustav.  209. 
Scotch  Protestants,  280. 
Scott,  Walter,  18. 
Shakspeare,  169,  183,  198. 
Spandau,  253. 
Spinoza,  150. 
Stars,  the,  87,  89.  263. 
Sterne,  Laurence,  198. 
Strauss,  David,  208. 


T. 
Tacitus.  158. 
Talmud,  the,  139. 
Tannhauser,  120. 
Tartuffe.  51,  126. 
Tetzel,  124. 
Thought,  men  of.  145. 
Tieck,  Ludvvig,  199,  204. 
Titian,  166. 


U. 

Uhland,  200,  202. 


Uncle  Tom,  271. 
Undine,  Fouque's,  201. 

V. 

Venice,  65. 

Venus,  32,  120. 

Vernet,  Horace,  57,  63,  294, 

Veronese,  Paul,  65. 

Virgil,  161. 

Virtue,  125,  130,  280. 

Voltaire,  iii,  112,  127,  257,  260, 

289. 
Voss,  175. 

W. 

Wandering  Jew,  the,  25. 
Werner,  Zacharias,  170. 
Witchcraft,  121. 

Women,  48,  104,   108,  250,  251, 
286. 


Young  Germany  School,  the,  48, 

196. 
Youth,  87,  89. 


THE    END. 


1 


\i 


I 


14  DAY  USE 

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